


Alternative Universe with 221 Bees

by fresne



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: 221B Ficlet, A story told entirely in words starting with the letter b, Actors in a Play, Actors on TV, Alternate Universe - Actors, Alternate Universe - Aliens, Alternate Universe - Bookstore, Alternate Universe - Dinosaurs, Alternate Universe - His Dark Materials Fusion, Alternate Universe - Reincarnation, Alternate Universe - Stripper/Exotic Dancer, Alternate Universe - Student/Teacher, Alternate Universe - Tarzan Fusion, Alternate Universe - The Last Unicorn Fusion, Alternate Universe - Zombie Apocalypse, Alternative Universe - Spy, Ant!John, Ante Bellum, Anthropomorphic, Atoms, Aurora - Freeform, Baskerville Sex Gas, Books, Bread, Brewer!John, Canadian Shack, Ch24-Mary/Janine, Characters Are in Fandom, Curtain Fic, Curtain Fic AU - no really, Damselfly!John, Dancing, Didn't Know They Were Dating, Dragonfly!Sherlock, Enkidu!John, Epic of Gilgamesh - Freeform, Everyone Woke Up Gay, Everyone!Moriarty-well two people, Everyones a Fish, Fae & Fairies, Fairy!Sherlock, Fawn!John, Fawnlock, Fem!John - Freeform, Fem!Sherlock, Fix-It, Folklore, Gay Bar, Ghost!Sherlock, Gilgamesh!Sherlock, Goat!John, Greaserlock, Greek gods, Harlequin, Hooker!Sherlock, Hookerfic, Hurt/Comfort, John and Sherlock's Wedding, Kept Man John Watson, Lemonchello, Lovecraftian, M/M, Magical Healing Cock, Medical Kink, Merlock, Monster!Sherlock, Moriarty!John, Moriarty!Sherlock, Multi, Mythology - Freeform, Octo!John - Freeform, Other, PENGUINS!, Parentlock, Pirates, Planet!John, Potterlock, Prisionfic, Reincarnation, Robot!Sherlock, Secretly Royalty, Sex Pollen, Sex Pollen-Dubcon, Sex for an Experiment - Adults, Sex for an Experiment - Teens, Sex for an experiment, Sherlock Holmes and John Watson floating in space on a bed handcuffed to one another, Sleep Together for Warmth, Smaug - Freeform, Socks, Soulmate marks, Soulmates, Star!Sherlock, Story told in texts, Stranded in a cave, Student John, Student Sherlock, Tattoo Artist Sherlock, Tattoos, Teacher John, Teacher Sherlock, Teacher-Student Relationship, Tolkien AU, Triceratop!John, Unicorn!Sherlock, Vamp!Sherlock, Velociraptors, Vintner!Sherlock, Warnings for the story are in the Notes as this is a bit of a beast, Wild Hunt, Wingfic, Zombie Apocalypse, age of exploration, alien!John, alien!Sherlock, alternative universe, american west, assassin!john, bee!Sherlock, bilbo, coffee shop AU, collected shortfic, colonial, fawn!Sherlock, ghost!John, ice cubes, macarena, mer!Sherlock, robot!John, sentinelverse, slavefic, velociraptor!Sherlock, wwi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-09
Updated: 2016-09-17
Packaged: 2018-07-22 11:54:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 221
Words: 49,089
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7437457
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fresne/pseuds/fresne
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They are books in a used bookstore, who should not be shelved together.<br/>When they aren't socks.<br/>Or ice.<br/>Or dinosaurs.<br/>Or a bee and an ant.<br/>Faunlock, Parentlock, Teacherlock or... other things.</p><p>An iterative series of 221B stories. One 221B per chapter.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Shelving

**Author's Note:**

> Well, let's see what comes of this. Amazingly, I hadn't actually heard of 221b ficlets until reading a tumblr post while in a hotel in Ashland with bad WIFI when I should have been editing documentation. 
> 
> On the remaining drive home, the Three Patch Podcast inspired me with a number of feel good AU ideas with their Coffee Shop episode. We'll see what comes of this.
> 
> After all, thirty years in fandom. I've read a LOT of really cracky fanfic.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock is a book, who doesn't fit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trope: [Anthropomorphic](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Anthropomorfic)  
> Warning: Pages are disturbed.

Sherlock didn't fit on most of the gently aging English oak shelves at Hudder's Used Books. Built for the average hardback. Sherlock was above average. He was a leather bound brilliantly gilt edged book that could answer any question if anyone bothered to stretch their tiny minds out of the gutter to read his charts and graphs.

John fit on any shelf. His height was a skosh below a weathered paper back. Dropped in the tub once. Perfect for a back pocket. Hardback though, so not quite perfect. That somehow meant that he was always shoved horizontally on a random shelf. His faded blue cover implied 1920s math. Hiding the hand painted illustrations of adventure within.

They should not have been shelved together. But as previously mentioned, John was often shelved all askew. They ended up at an assassination of cookbooks together.

Sherlock cracked the dissolving glue by the scent of almonds drifting in the dust.

Escoffier had been done in by Ramsey, who would have done the same to Sherlock, but for John's rapidly deployed tunalock bookmark and the sturdiness of Sherlock's binding.

"Amazing," read the solitary quote scrawled in blue pen on John's endnote.

Sherlock's silk flyleaf came somewhat undone. Curled about John's head. Ridged spines rubbed. Velum on cotton. Ink to ink.

Love in the time of books.


	2. Love in the time of socks or sox or socs or something

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock's a sock.
> 
> John's a different kind of sock.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trope: [Anthropomorphic](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Anthropomorfic)  
> Warning: The sock index is very disturbed. Very.

Victor developed three holes in his heel and had been thrown away months ago. As if Sherlock wasn't two of a kind. Hand woven from bamboo fibre at a collective. Sherlock was hypo-allergenic, anti-bacterial, and naturally cooling.

Which was why it was odd that Stamford always wore Sherlock and John together. Literally together. On the same left foot. Sherlock inside all wick and smooth. John outside, thick wool, and more than a bit prickly for all that he looked soft. Their weft and weave tugged and pulled at each other. Their fibres blending together with every foot fall. Each stretch to reach up to a shelf. Sweat matting. Cooling. Heating. Oh, the mysteries that they explored in the dust.

Stamford wore Mycroft and Greg on his right foot. Mycroft was a bamboo fibre office sock that was never invited to stand up to Stamford's calves, but he could have. He had space age elastic that always retained its shape. While Greg's division was cotton. From a package. From the store. He was the only one of his division left.

Stamford's wife, Shari, would say, "Oh, for fuck's sake. I bought you slippers just this last Christmas."

But Stamford would smile and say, "I like to give the orphan's one last go."

His daughter may have mouthed the words behind his back.


	3. Odd the Ice Giants of the Freezer

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trope: [Anthropomorphic](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Anthropomorfic)  
> Warning: There's this thing where ice in the freezer sticks together

The mold was simple. Snap together. Pour in water. Sherlock was an ice sphere. There were, of course, occlusions in his ice. No matter how many times Stamford froze him, the man simply failed to obey the basic rules of creating directional ice. No matter. Occlusions were only to be expected from a highly functioning aluminium sociopathic ice mold. Technically, Sherlock was an ice Death Star.

John's mold was complicated. It looked simple enough. Until the cracking. John's jagged point curved out every time with that little extra piece that wasn't supposed to be there. The curved line of a Star Fleet insignia.

In preparation for some boring event or another, they'd be cracked free and placed in a bin together.

Sherlock always avoided Anderson with his faux comic phallus shape. Boring.

Mycroft resided in a jar of icy brains. Dull.

Either way, Sherlock was more than happy to slide into the container with John. To meld and cling hooked shape to sphere. Sherlock could have complained to management. Used centrifugal force to break their ice box bond. Centripetal. That's what Sherlock told himself. It was centripetal force that held them together.

As they were rolled all of a piece into Molly's Serenity pint glass, John said, "Sherlock, you're the H to my O."

Sherlock always replied, "It's regulation, my bonded."


	4. Until Comet's Tragic Fall - Whatever Horn Porn

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John's a dinosaur. So is Sherlock. Love in an earlier age.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trope: [Characters are animals.](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Animal_Transformation)  
> Warning: Implied use of an triceratops horn.

Rend. Tear. Destroy. Wait. No. Bored. The life of a velociraptor was boring. Sherlock would leap and jump over John with his plodding shape and armoured body.

"Why three facial horns on your skull? You're an herbivore!" Sherlock snatched a giant bee from the air and ate it. "And you're small for your size."

John ate a plant. He chewed. He ruminated. He said, "I could show you. There are three continent and I am three continent's John."

Sherlock said, "Dull." He said, "Boring." He said, "I'm married to the Work."

He curled on John's back. It was very warm there.

Anderson simultaneously cowered and displayed his marsupial pouch stinking from his last heat.

John ignored him. Sherlock ignored him.

In the depths, Mycroft megalodonically ignored him.

Moriarty threw excrement. But in an artistic way. At a cliff. That he subsequently destroyed as boring.

Sally swooped down from her perch and ate Anderson in one gulp.

She was hungry. Molly chirped at her, but allowed Sally to preen her scales.

Sherlock snarled to be so ignored and ate Magnussen.

No one noticed. Magnussen was a centipede after all.

John noticed.

He bellowed and gored the earth. He shouted, "Sherlock!"

Sherlock would have blushed, but he was green. Glistening. He was also being tenderly nudged by John. He gave in. "Frenulum bellicose."


	5. Bees and Ants and Oh My

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock's a bee.
> 
> John's an ant.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trope: [Animal Transformation ](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Animal_Transformation)  
> Warning: An ant and a bee get it on.

The flight of a Queen was complicated. First she had to escape her all seeing, all controlling predecessor.

Mycroft!

The first curse.

The last.

It didn't matter.

Sherlock flew. She was a new Queen. Stylish as all Queens must be. Razor sharp wings and every advantage.

The ant drone limping on the edge of the elephant grass was unexpected. Particularly since his injury was psychosomatic. Sherlock said, "It could be dangerous," and snapped her wings just so. She smiled a certain way at the drones following her. Dangerous. 

They went back to the hive. 

All but little ant John. Plodding and running and leap.

From somewhere, Moriarty ordered his cicada chorus to lay on the strings. He tugged his strings. He was a nasty old spider after all.

John had the wings of a drone and the heart of a soldier. He and Sherlock met in the gossamer air. They alighted. They questioned aphids. Simple cows. Sherlock was brilliant. John was delighted.

One thing. Another. Coupling.

A cricket sang. Stool pigeon. Moriarty was caught in his own web.

With consequences. Sherlock was shot in the heart by that dastardly Ladybug Mary. Sherlock died. John mourned.

She came back to life like a beetle. "I never wanted the hive life."

"Fine," he said. And they flew off to the back of beyond.


	6. Smart Dressed Avians

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which everyone becomes a penguin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trope: [Animal Transformation](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Animal_Transformation)  
> Warnings:   
> Why yes, I was in the SGA fandom. Why do you ask?  
> I'm thinking John is an erect crested penguin.  
> http://www.penguinworld.com/types/erect.html  
> While Sherlock's the classic emperor.  
> https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Emperor_penguin

Sherlock wasn't sleeping when it happened. No. He was pining in his Mind Palace over a hypothesis of a certain blogger.

"Sherlock!" John's voice was different. Higher. Almost a chirp. Sherlock opened his eyes. Red was gone, but not violet, blue and green. Also, he had flippers which were almost touching a beak. His beak.

He looked at John. John was a penguin.

It required no great deduction to induce that Sherlock was also a penguin. Different species. Sherlock was taller. John had a yellow crest. John had been right about not deleting the case at the zoo. Sherlock shuffled to the window. John hoped up on the desk. It was an amazing leap. Sherlock looked at John while John looked out.

John said, "Fuck! Everyone's turned into a penguin."

Sherlock hummed. Watched as the feathers of John's crest fluffed in response. Sherlock hummed. John's crest fluffed higher. Sherlock circled around him.

John glanced back. "What are you doing?"

"Verifying a hypothesis." Sherlock leaned closer.

John's trilled. Put his flipper in front of his beak. "What?"

Sherlock said, "Penguins rarely commit interesting murders and in this state I can't manipulate my phone." He hummed. "But given the way this situation is proving out a theory," he preened John's shoulder, who made an interested trill, "being a penguin is not all bad."


	7. Canadian Shack

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock's living in a shack in Canada. Like you do.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trope: [Canadian Shack](http://fanlore.org/wiki/101_Ways_To_End_Up_In_A_Canadian_Shack)  
> Warning: Vague phone/vid sex.

In Canada, there was a shack. It was ramshackle. Living there was deleterious to the health. Sherlock had retreated there for the Work. The WORK. Studying cigarette ash. Impressions of foot prints. Fingerprint wear patterns.

But for one problem.

He had excellent WIFI.

A computer.

With a camera.

And an internet boyfriend.

He hadn't intended for it to happen. He had been trolling boards on Post Modern Ironic Existentialism, as one does, when he'd paused to deduce a gif of a towel drinking a cup of tea and stumbled into an exchange. An interchange.

Sherlock hadn't said where in Canada the shack resided. Perhaps, Toronto, eh. Or Planet Vancouver, Sorry. Or possible en Montreal.

The things Sherlock had done with poutine for John.

It did not bear repeating. Except in the vid. To The Church singing "Under the Milky Way."

What John found so funny about that Sherlock could not have said. Perhaps something about the sand in Kandahar.

Sherlock's boyfriend was a soldier. He could strip a gun while naked. Not that Sherlock had footage.

That he watched.

In his Canadian shack.

Of indeterminate location.

He was watching that video and in a certain state when what came to his door was a knock, knock, knocking. He opened the door.

Tongues were deployed, but not for speaking. For linguistic buss.


	8. Tumnus wore no Trousers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John is a fawn.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trope: Faunlock ish  
> Warning: Ends before the buckery begins.

The wide fields made him shudder. In a city, there were cameras. People. Phones. In the country, horrible things could happen and no one would notice.

"The countryside is boring," said Sherlock, his back to the terrifying window.

His brother sighed over the phone. "You're staying at Clapham House where you'll be free of distractions." So much unsaid. So much written. The list Sherlock had left had been… long.

Sherlock slipped out within fifteen minutes. He walked down horrifying violet sprung hedges. He darted into a thicket when the Clapham House van rattled down the road. Kept going down an old rutted path. That's when he heard the pipes.

Followed them to where a small man… no… lower half of a Capra. Thick brown woolly fur. Split hooves. Playing a simple set of wooden pipes.

Sherlock pulled his violin from its case. Answered the call of the pipe. The man opened his eyes. They were wild blue with slitted pupils. His smile was a stab. They played. Nothing from a text. Nothing written. All the horrible things hidden in these country lanes.

The little not-man clip clopping closer and closer. Until the melody faded.

Sherlock shuddered and put down his violin. He lay down on the violent grass blades, and fully distracted, found that the not-man was very much a buck.


	9. Into Wilder Woods

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Followup on John the Faun. 
> 
> Sherlock discovers the consequences of playing music with a faun.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trope: More Fauns. John as Faun. Sherlock as unwary traveler in the woods.  
> Warning: M/M anal sex.

Sherlock wasn't allergic to sharp grass. He'd consumed dirt as a child. Rolled in the wild long blades with his hound behind garden walls.

This was no garden. Sherlock wasn't a child.

Rolled violently over long blades. Clutched by small hands with hard nails like wide thorns. Clothing unravelling in the wild of the woods. Until Sherlock was bare as a peeled branch. Exposed to a feral gaze.

Sherlock saw the ancient stones, felted with lichen and moss around them. The dark shapes slipping between. Deduced.

Fracturing under the faun's calloused touch. Splintering under nipping teeth. Sherlock, willingly consumed by earth kisses.

None of this made any sense. Logic. Facts. Giving way to an addict's need.

Sherlock had made music with a faun. Here was the price.

Music horribly thundering in his veins. Ears. Mouth. Nose. Musky. Viscous. Thick. Heavy. So, heavy for such a small light body bearing him down. Pinning him under the terrible beauty of the woods.

Phallus slick and hot between spreading thighs.

A drum beat hammered on earth.

His heart. Their bodies. Drumming satyrs just out of view and he the thrush caught nymph. Branch pierced. Wanton keening at brutal thrusts. Willingly overrun.

Thistle down brushed as sunshine fell into moonlight. Stars wheeled high overhead.

Sherlock followed the faun past the pale and over wilder brooks.


	10. Tumnus also wore no Pants - Does this make him the Emperor?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock is a fawn.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trope: Faunlock.  
> Warning: Ends as things begin.

John was being rehabilitated. That's what they called it when they sent soldiers out to pasture. Every day in his mandated journal, he wrote, "It's fine."

He'd been told he might never regain full mobility given the pins.

His answer to that was to stomp down country lanes. Metal legs. Stomping wasn't the same, but he still did it.

Middle of the day. Stomp. Sit up from a sweat soaked dream. Stomp. That's what he was doing when he came to the stone circle. Found the fawn playing violin by moonlight. He stopped frozen by the weird wonder of such an impossible creature.

He gasped when the final note played. The fawn lowered his violin. He circled round John. He didn't look at John's legs. John tried not to notice that the fawn wasn't wearing trousers. Then from just behind him, the fawn took up a new tune. It was the march of a soldier off to war. It was chaos. It was John. He couldn't have been more naked if he'd been spread out on the altar stone.  

He jerked up his chin. He stomped away. The melody followed him.

He went back the next night. And the next. Found himself pinned by music. Explored by long fingers and the brush of wooly thighs.

He wrote in his journal, "Beguiled."


	11. Curtain Fic

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which they go shopping for curtains.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trope: [Curtain fic](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Curtainfic).  
> Warning: M/M mild situation.

Sherlock grumbled all the way to Curtain Land.

John snorted. "You're the one who set fire to the curtains." Sherlock sneered. John said, "You're doing this," in the do as I say or there will be consequences tone.

A flush flooded Sherlock's traitor cheeks. He popped his collar. He followed John to Curtain Land. Swaths of fabric formed hundreds of hidden spaces. Nearly empty midweek.

John picked curtains that were all wrong. Sherlock took over. John should be framed with gold silk.

John touched the soft fabric with killer-surgeon fingers. "Nice."

Sherlock shivered.

Sherlock experimented on the kitchen curtains. Again the tone. The traitor cheeks. A cheeky pattern to make John smile.

Growing bolder, Sherlock experimented on the curtains in John's room.

The tone. The cheeks. Helpless, he followed his captain to Curtain Land. Sherlock fingered heavy velvet. Knew how it would feel against his bare back.

"Why the curtains?" asked John. He looked. His expression changed. "Oh!"

Sherlock cringed.

His deduction was incorrect. Three stroppy steps forward. Pushing Sherlock into velvet. John said in that tone, "On your knees."

Sherlock folded like a skein. There were other commands. Buttons. Fingers tugging his hair. Tender-killer fingers around him as John handled him amid the pile.

Later, John kissed him satin soft. "We should get these."

Sherlock hummed his agreement. "In blue."


	12. Curtain Fic Redux

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Sherlock is a silk curtain and John is a set of English (Venetian) blinds.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trope: [Curtain Fic](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Sherlock_\(TV_series\))  
> Warning: Sexy curtains getting it on.

John's golden oak slats were tightly packed between his rails. His cord tapped angrily against the window.

The bunched folds of Sherlock's drapery paced in and out. No light silk, but a heavy purple brocade. Twice as tall as the window. Brushing the floor. "You misunderstood."

"Nothing to misunderstand. You don't have friends." In an explosion, John's slats descended. His bottom rail slapped the window sill. "You think I'm an idiot." He pushed Sherlock back. "I don't know why I hang around with you."

"I don't have friends." Sherlock moved over the window open to the deepening night. "I have a friend. You." Sherlock shifted a fold around John's slats. Sherlock's pleats briefly kissing John's head rail. They froze. "I." Sherlock shifted back. "I didn't. I mean yes, but…"

"I thought you were married to your work." John's ladder drum tentatively loosened.

"You are the work." Sherlock brushed against John.

John's slats scraped over Sherlock's pattern. John groaned. Sherlock sighed.

Their cords tangled together on each inhale and exhale. Their rods slid and brushed against each other.

All night, they moved like that. Tangling.

With the morning came the sun. Sherlock whispered, "You are the most amazing conductor of light."

John shifted to let in slivers of sunshine.

The sun rose higher and they looked for murder in the facing brownstone.


	13. Oh, Gods! Yes!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which they are Greek gods.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trope: Well, I've seen people be gods.  
> Warnings: They're Greek.

Sherlock was a god of detection, not... parties.  

Interacting with his family was... well, imagine the Dionysia feasts.

Sherlock did his best to blend into the marble wall and watched the crowd. A god stomped up to an amphora. He stabbed the tiles with the butt of his spear. He was limping.

Heat flashed in Sherlock's chest. He looked down at a golden arrow melting into his heart. He looked up and met the soldier god's bluest sky eyes.  

Sherlock turned. Glared at Mike Stamford, an Eros. Mike said, "Just a friendship bolt. Promise." He fluttered away.

Sherlock said to the soldier, "You're a war god. I'm a god detection. We have nothing in common. I play the lyre at night. Darkness follows me. I sometimes don't speak for days. I don't have friends."  

"I'm John." John stepped closer. "I'm the god of the mad charge up the hill. Of the fearless leap. Also, that was not a friendship bolt." He put his hand on Sherlock's chest where the red fletching bloomed blush. Warmer than any arrow. "Mike had his fingers crossed behind his back."

"I'm married to my work," said Sherlock desperately. He leaned closer. 

"We're Greek. Let's have an affair." John licked his lips.

Sherlock nodded yes. He hadn't meant to. 

They left the bacchanal for something far better.


	14. For science!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Sherlock wants to advance science by having sex with John.
> 
> Science!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trope: Having sex for science.  
> Warning: Strangely, not much sex.

"You want to have sex… as an experiment!" repeated back John.

"Yes, I already said that." Sherlock fiddled with the collar of his lab coat. "It's idiotic to repeat the question as an answer."

"Oi, that's no way to convince someone to have sex with you," said John mildly.

"For science, John!" said Sherlock. He closed the door to their lab. "The university won't let me work directly with the test subjects."

"Ah," said John. John had read Sherlock's grant proposal. He'd wanked to it too. Been regretful that he wouldn't be pulled into… this round of research.

John had been pulled into most of Sherlock's experiments since arriving at the university. Sherlock's work on bio-rhythmic serotonin stimulation was amazing. Simply fantastic. John had spent fifteen years chasing bio-weapon ghosts for the UN, and now Sherlock. Like sharing lab space with a comet.

Heat pooled in John's belly at the idea. "But, Sherlock, have you… had sex before?"

Sherlock scoffed.

John raised his eyebrows.

"Fine, no. That's why I need you on this."

John did not suggest that Sherlock go down to a pub and pull as many test subjects as needed. He said, "I'll do it."

"Excellent!" Sherlock pushed John against the lab bench. "I've already taken my resting levels."

John groaned under the onslaught, but gave in to brainwork.


	15. Do you want to, you know, have sex, for an experiment... for science...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which John is a horny teen and Sherlock is also a horny teen, who succumbs to the blandishments of scientific experiment.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trope: Sex for science. Teenlock.  
> Warnings: M/M underage sex. Hand job. Oral. Anal.
> 
> Now if I could just figure out how to end a sentence on the word blandishment. Don't worry. I'll get there.

John licked his lips. Waited. Sherlock's fit, rugger, popular lab partner had just asked Sherlock to…

Sherlock rummaged his Mind Palace. It didn't help.

It was an intriguing idea.

"I'll want blood samples."

"Uh," said John. He pushed his hands deeper into his pockets.

"The answer's yes, but if we're doing this science, we examine our blood chemistry." No hypodermic needles materialized in the empty classroom.

"We could just… do it."

"And not analyze the results!" Sherlock imitated a wet cat. "Fine. I'll compile activity to physiological result graphs. We can use the janitor's closet on the third floor." He picked up his backpack. "Coming?"

They both came very quickly upon application of manual stimulation. Oral stimulation made John lose tensile strength in his knees. Digital prostate stimulation made Sherlock see white spots.

After each experiment, Sherlock noted a significant improvement in his mood. Increased appetite. He desired extra-experimental touching.

They broke onto the school roof. Spread out a soft blanket. Experimented with penile penetration. Angles. Speed. Lingered after to slide dermises against each other.

John kissed Sherlock's shoulder. "This isn't for science. I just said that so you'd… with me."

Sherlock rearranged John across his chest. "It is for science. An on-going study."

John laughed. "What do we call this science?"

Sherlock mandibularly examined John. Paused. "The science of bliss."  


	16. Dancing at a Gay Bar

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which they meet at a gay bar and go into the back alley for reasons other than the expected.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trope: Other meeting. Gay bar.  
> Warning: Frottage.

Sherlock went to Grinders to dance. They played music. Not merely a beat to – bored - get high to. Sherlock avoided the meat market with energetic dancing, fencing moves, and only drinking water.

A man (medical student, alcoholic parents) in a tight Bart's t-shirt was drinking water at the pitcher.

Obviously, he'd make a pass.

"Form on your flèche could use work. Course," his gaze dragged down, "could be the leather trousers." He raised his eyebrows.

Not obvious.

Challenge accepted.

Sherlock demonstrated the excellence of his flèche, flunge and riposte using cardboard in the back alley.

After, Sherlock watched John lean against a wall and breathe. He said, to have something to say, "Your form is adequate if reliant on being left handed." Could have stabbed himself if cardboard were a knife.

John didn't leave. He smiled. "We could try dancing."

Sherlock loved to dance. Alone. It kept him safe.

Moving his body in rhythm with John wasn't safe. Arms brushing. Legs stepping between. Holding John's arm high. Spinning him. Being spun in and against John's chest. Returning the favor. Shifting edges. Grinding arousal.

They went back to Sherlock's for coffee that Sherlock didn't have. Continued without leather or jeans. A pounding rhythm between bare thighs against a wall.

John moved in the next day. They didn't need a second bedroom.


	17. Dancing at Netherfield

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which during the Regency, mysterious former spy, Sherlock, has declared to his dear friend, Captain John Watson, that there was only one person at the ball handsome enough to tempt him.
> 
> And still was stuck watching his good friend dance with another.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The first line is Jane Austen's not mine from Pride and Prejudice.  
> Trope: [Regency AU](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Regency_AU)  
> Warning: Implied M/M, and F/F. Johnlock and Morkins.

"Come, I must have you dance. I hate to see you standing about by yourself in this stupid manner." The hateful words still echoed in his ears.

When entire reason Sherlock had followed John to Netherfield was to share more than a stolen hour. To be able to enfold each other through the night. Like it had been during the Peninsular campaign.

Now Sherlock was condemned to country dances. When John knew that Sherlock longed to fold his hand over John's shoulder. To dance with John's hand on the small of his back.

Sherlock watched John dance with Miss Morstan. He in his handsome red uniform. She in her pallid dress. While Sherlock and her friend, Miss Hawkins, were wall flotsam together. He was ignoring Miss Hawkins, when she said, "I miss four handers." She was watching Miss Morstan.

Then he knew. "You're from Dublin. Must live with cousins. Writing a horrid novel. Are in love with your co-writer."

"Mr. Holmes!" Miss Hawkins turned green-grey.

Sherlock said, "In a four hander, two men and two women can dance together in public view."

Her cheeks re-pinked. "Oh."

They were quite the whirlwind romances. Captain Watson and Miss Morstan. Mr. Holmes and Miss Hawkins. The couples were forever visiting each other.

There were dozens of four handers played whenever they threw a ball.


	18. Dance the Macarena

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which John and Mary are getting married and Sherlock is the event coordinator.
> 
> Also, Sherlock briefly dances the Macarena.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Somewhere there's a tumblr post about Sherlock dances the Macarena and let's his hand touch John's arse. No idea when or where. But this is the fic from that.
> 
> Trope: Other careers.  
> Warnings: The Macarena.

The wedding was over. Photos taken. Speeches negotiated. John's – the groom's speech had been heartfelt. The bride's showed humor. She was a liar. He was restless. Sherlock gave them three months.

Sherlock only planned the events. Not lives.

The Best Man played a prank where he asked everyone with keys to John's flat to give them up. Every woman there and one man handed in a key. John – the groom flushed. Understandable. He and his commanding officer, Major Sholto, had been lovers. Secretly. Worshipfully. On John's knees in the desert under a bullet wracked sky.

Sholto was murdered. Sherlock solved it. He knew every event photographer. Kept things quiet with a promise to arrange the Met's Christmas do.

Time to leave.

Mary, who was now married to John, had other ideas.

She'd divined that he loved to dance. Not that he'd been wanking to thoughts of her groom… John in uniform. Saving lives.  

He waltzed. He swing danced. He – dear God – delete – danced the Macarena. Next to John moving his body. Sherlock accidentally brushed his hand over John's fit arse.

John met his eyes. Sherlock almost blurted that he'd solved the murder of John's old lover. That John's marriage was doomed.

He marked the future minute when he'd run into John. It would be his best orchestrated event. His absolute best.


	19. Chapter 17 Gets a retry again - Or Till we Meet Again

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Where Sherlock, John's wedding planner, does meet John again. Just not as he planned.

If there was anything that Sherlock had learned as event planner, it was that no plan survives contact with the battlefield. Also that goats don't enjoy being unicorns, but that was a separate issue.

He'd only begun to outline plan to run into John Watson, when John stormed into Sherlock's flat not two weeks after the wedding.

"You arse!"

Sherlock looked at the twitch of John's right hand. "You were contacted about Major Sholto."

"The man who was murdered at my God damned wedding."

Sherlock steepled his hands. "Be precise. Your former lover. Whose murderer I caught. Tied to the murder of a palace guard. While preserving your especial day."

John sat down. "Yeah, my special day. Mary left me halfway through the honeymoon." They sat in silence for a while. John looked down at the diorama on the table. Puzzled at it. "What is that supposed to be?"

"The sweet sixteen party for Honoria Havingstone, which recreates a medieval unicorn hunt." Sherlock tilted his head. "Fortunately, unicorns aren't real given the attendees." He narrowed his eyes. Cast caution to the wind. "Come with? It's sure to be a blast."

"Sure." John put his hands in his pockets. "What could go wrong?"

Lord Havingstone was murdered in the parlor, which was locked from the inside. Solving it really was a blast.


	20. The Best Day of their Lives

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which John and Sherlock get married.

They walked down the aisle together.

John couldn't believe this was real. Instead of sleep walking his life, he was walking arm in arm with a miracle. He almost tripped on the root of the old oak tree.

Sherlock sniggered.

An absolute dick, who John elbowed affectionately, but a miracle.

Mrs. Hudson was crying. Sherlock's mother was crying. Harry laughed. Mycroft sighed.

They made it to the tree. Turned to each other. John promised himself that he wouldn't cry.

They'd written their own vows. Sherlock's was… he… hot tears escaped John's eyes. It was fine. Sherlock was leaking too.

The pictures were a whirl. The cake's topper investigated gory icing.

Bill had half the room pretending to have shagged John by dropping off John's old flat keys. Sherlock deduced everyone. Stopped when he saw James. Gripped John's hand. John squeezed back.

An idiot who'd never been to war tried to kill James, a good man. If no longer the one holding John's heart.

Sherlock solved it. John saved James. There was dancing. Every song was danceable. Not that John knew from anything, but Sherlock loved to dance. His hand on the small of John's back. Eyes locked. Tiny signals, no Vatican Cameo's needed. Perfect trust moving their feet in rhythm. Spinning joy.

It was the best night ever. Simply the best.


	21. Toppers Who Climbed the Cakes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John and Sherlock are wedding toppers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trope: [Anthropomorphic](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Anthropomorfic) \+ Wedding theme  
> Warning: Like the Tin Soldier and the little Ballerina, only not.

They were theoretically forever frozen in this position. Both wearing tuxedos and top hats. They were all after grooms. Toppers for a wedding long since gone by.

Sherlock was bending down examining something with a hand held magnifying glass. John was behind him. His head was tilted. Theoretically he was looking at whatever Sherlock was looking at.

He was actually eyeing the way Sherlock's sweetly curved arse filled out his trousers. One hand rested on Sherlock's back. The other hand had a gun in it.

The bloody spread of icing with the artistically arranged footprints had long since been consumed. Actually, no. There was still a piece in the freezer.

There had been three frozen slices once. On the tenth anniversary, they'd been pulled out of their diorama to perch on that slice. Again they investigated. Again – always – John eyed Sherlock's arse.

On the twenty-fifth anniversary, they stood on the piece placed on a sheet cake decorated with glowing hound's foot prints.

On the fortieth, they'd been placed beside half a slice and investigated a cream cake cathedral.

On the fiftieth anniversary, they'd been arranged at the foot of a quartered slice. Red icing spread on cake landscape as a sugary blood bath.

This wasn't to say that they didn't get up to all sorts of things in the times between.


	22. The Theme Music swells

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Sherlock and John, now reunited, make the two backed beast while their theme music swells.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trope: Magical Realism where people have theme songs/musical universes.  
> Warning: This chapter has muture content. Explicit sex between adults.

It was too much.

The blue of John's eyes smelled like an approaching storm. His hands on Sherlock's skin burned like a forest fire in a drought stricken forest. His cock pushing inside him felt like pine pitch crackling in the blaze.

The sound of their theme song swelled. Violent violins and piercing clarinets.

"Should I stop?" John's face begged for a no.

Sherlock wrapped his legs tighter around John. Chanted no.

"I'll just… oh, God…it's… you're so... our song is amazing."

Every nerve of Sherlock's body plucked their melody. Even his cheek where John had punched him at Chez Papillon. His jaw at Gram's Steakhouse. His finger wrung neck at Emperor Kuan's. His castle conquered lips at 221B. Especially those.

That woman had left when her and John's song faded. As John and Sherlock's new song swelled. Leaving just the two of them. Reunited. Two years silent.

Now this.

A woodwind softened. Yielded. John pushed deeper. Their groans and gasps were a chorus now. John pounding a welcome drum beat. The forest of Sherlock burned until John's face, like a rain cloud, folded in deluge. Sherlock came in a thunderclap.

Was still floating, as John wrapped Sherlock around him. Listened to their new melody softly playing around them.

"Beautiful," whispered John fading into sleep.

There was only one reply. "Beautiful."


	23. Personal Tutoring with the Potion Master

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which John is a student at Hogwarts and Sherlock is the potions master.
> 
> Oh, who am I kidding. PWP.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trope: Potterlock + Teacher/Student   
> Warning: Explicit sexual content of anal sex between an adult and a minor. Though I'll leave it to you to your own kink to decide just how young John is this chapter.

They shouldn't be doing this. John should leave. Skylark with his friends outside of Hogwarts.

Professor Holmes said, "Your transmogrification potion was abysmal." He said, more softly, "Are you wearing it?"

John pulled off his robe. He was naked, except for the blue corset Professor Holmes had given him. Had been all through class.

"Good boy," Professor Holmes pointed at John's desk. "Show me what you did wrong."

John leaned over his desk. He picked up wormwort. Received a slap across his bare arse.

"Wrong."

John smiled. Made another error. "Wrong." A slap. "Now, do it correctly."

John made the potion perfectly. Swallowed it. Grew wide white wings.

"Good." A greased finger slickly entered John. Drawing a muffled cry like a trapped bird.

"You heard, but didn't observe. I put a Quietus spell on the door." A second finger slid in. "Yell for me."

John yelled far as the corset would let him. His wings brushing against Professor Holmes.

John spread his legs wider. Was rewarded with the well slicked head of Professor Holmes' cock. Bucked back and got a slap. "Use your wings."

John enfolded Professor Holmes as he pressed in. Opened his wings as he pulled out. A furious flutter that went on forever. Ended too soon.

They shouldn't be doing this. But John knew tomorrow, he'd be back.


	24. Howl for Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock is a student. John his teacher. It's the 50s. It's Ginsberg. It's Howl.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trope: Greaserlok, Teacher/Student  
> Warning: This chapter features explicit oral sex between an adult and a minor. 
> 
> Several of the lines in this chapter are taken from Ginsberg's poem Howl.  
> "I saw the best minds of my generation,"  
> "blew and were blown by human seraphim."  
> "destroyed by madness."  
> "digested imagination"  
> "beat with the absolute heart of the poem of life."  
> "butchered from their own bodies."
> 
> "coughed like in that book by Nabokov" is a reference to the Police song, "Don't Stand so Close to Me," which references Lolita. Edited down to save words.

John saw Sherlock huddled in the bus stop. Told himself that he was only stopping because it was raining. That he'd stop for any of his students. That he'd been clear that it was over.

When he stopped, Sherlock immediately climbed in. John said, "Did you cream your Indian again?"

Sherlock glared at him. All bristling youth. "No." With his greased hair and leather jacket, Sherlock was trying to look so tough. Soft brilliant edges that John had smashed running through hellfire on the Western front.

John glanced away. Burned a little too much rubber pulling out.

Sherlock whispered, "I saw the best minds of my generation, blew and were blown by human seraphim."

"I'm the one who lent you Howl. The line is destroyed by madness."

Sherlock laughed. "I know. Big Daddy, you're my fix." He put his hand on John's leg.

John shook and coughed like in that book by Nabokov. Stopped the car on an empty rain drenched street.

"Bingo." Sherlock whispered, "Howl for me."

Sherlock took John's cock in his mouth. Outside the rain fell. Inside, John whispered the digested imagination of madmen beat with the absolute heart of the poem of life. Broke a little bit more.

They hit the wide road a week later. Unable to endure the separation poetry butchered from their own bodies.


	25. You say Morstan, I say Moran, Let's call the Whole Thing Off

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Mary decides that telegram was a little close for comfort and decides to move on after one last errand. 
> 
> Follows up on the Sherlock the event planner 221Bs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm adding this, because I do like Mary, but not for John. Not after His Last Vow. Now, there is someone else I like to see her paired with...

Mary loved John. She loved herself more. When CAM's telegram was read at the wedding, she knew it was time to go. Nothing dramatic. A note left behind on the honeymoon. A trip home for a last errand.

Janine looked out from the monitor. "What's wrong?"

Mary pulled on her tears. "Please let me up. I need a friend right now."

"Of course," and so came the buzzer.

Mary went through to where Janine sat, CAM's gatekeeper. Janine had a Berretta Nano 9mm pointed at the door. Janine said, "Hey there, girlfriend."

"Hey," said Mary, whose own Glock 19 was still holstered. "Why are you…"

"Sweetie, please don't be insultin' my intelligence. You were one of my brother's favorites. Now he was a bit of a nutter, but he knew talent."

Mary couldn't believe that she hadn't seen it. "You started working here two years ago."

"Same as you." Janine wrinkled her nose. "I like my choice better. It's a good way to keep my finger on the pulse. Like bein' Clark Kent." Janine gestured with her left hand. "But I wanted to have a wee chat with ya here. Just us girls. No cameras. I'd rather ya didn't go for option two with my… boss."

"And what's option two?" Mary felt that perfect stillness that came before she fired.

"Darlin', the .300 Win Mag rifle that I was plannin' on givin' ya for yer weddin'. Since ya already left yer husband, it'll have to be a birthday present. Since I have my uses for Mr. Magnussen, I wanted to make sure ya left him alive." She smiled. "Don't worry. If he lays a tongue on something that's mine, there'll be a final sort of consequence." She raised the Beretta for a headshot. "So, I've got to ask, will ya be mine?"

It was in that moment that Mary finally knew what love was.

Mary smiled. "Number one with a bullet."


	26. Omegaverse like a Heartshaped Wheel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which John is a Damselfly and Sherlock is a Dragonfly, and they decide to role play being mammals.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Because a set of AUs *should* have an Omegaverse entry, but, while I do (shakes head) an idea for another one, it's not 221B sized.
> 
> So, role playing insects.
> 
> Trope: [Anthropomorpic](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Anthropomorfic)

"You want us to role play that we're mammals forced to reproduce because I'm going into heat?" asked John dubiously.

"Forget I said anything," said Sherlock. "Delete it." Xies carapace turned a sulky blue.

"No, no, it's fine," protested John. "I just wanted to be sure I understood. The idea of reproductive success is um… wow." They were of different species. John's Damselfly to Sherlock's Dragonfly. Science could do a great deal, but not that.

John removed xies drape to reveal xies bare thorax. John said, "Please thrust your throbbing mammalian member into my weeping rectum."

Sherlock's grasping cerci flexed. "I am going to waste a tremendous amount of sperm."

They both shot into the air. Higher and higher. Sherlock gripped John with xies cerci. John bent so that their genital openings and primary copulatory organs aligned. Their bodies formed a heart shape in the sky over Odonata city. A hedonistic display.

John shouted, "Knot me like a mammal." Sherlock flung sperm from xies secondary organs into xies penis. Into the air. Into John, before Sherlock spaded it out so they could couple again. Sherlock shouted, "I'm breeding you!"

They spun for hours.

Finally, spiraling down to oviposit in the water. Their eggs would never hatch.

Sherlock carefully groomed John's wings for any tears. John whispered, "Once more into the breach."


	27. Roller Derby Madness - This one's for the girls

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the Abominable Brides are the best damned roller derby league in the UK.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Janine Donleavy - Jacknife Jan  
> Sarah Sawyer - Sawblade Sal  
> Molly Hooper - Molly WhallopHer  
> Sally Donovan - Allie VonCarnage  
> Mary Morstan - Smasher DeMorte  
> Irene Adler - Whiphand Adder  
> Soo Lin Yao - Liminator Soo
> 
> Credit to Solrosan for the tumblr post idea/image, and hopefully many other fics spawned from this one.  
> http://solrosan.tumblr.com/post/145797331572

The Abominable Brides, the best Roller Derby team in the UK, took positions. Their Jammer, Liminator Soo, crouched low behind the pivot line. Jacknife Jan was playing pivot. The blockers, Allie VonCarnage, Smasher DeMorte, and Whiphand Adder shouted genial abuse at their frequent rivals, the Intemperance League.  

Sawblade Sal and Molly WhallopHer cooled it on the bench. Their Jam would come soon enough. 

The whistle shrieked.  

Jacknife Jan's and Smasher DeMorte put in a solid block on Mia Sockem, and Liminator Soo slipped on by. Lead Jammer in a Jam not three seconds done. 

Whiphand Adder and Allie VonCarnage skated in woven precision, blocking the Intemperance Brigade's Jammer, Scarmeleon.  

Liminator Soo came around. 

Allie VonCarnage whistled.  

Whiphand Adler spun on her wheels. Hands catching Liminator Soo's.  Whiphand Adder was mistress of the Whip. Tossed Liminator Soo out front of the pack. Point to the Abominable Brides. 

Gruffindor and Pia Messy goatherded Jacknife Jan, crowding her on both sides. But Smasher DeMorte was on to them. Blocking the blockers. She yelled, "Don't put baby in a pen," and block checked Gruffindor. 

"Love you sweetie," shouted Jacknife Jan as the whistle blew ending the Jam. 

Sawblade Sal and Molly Whalloper got ready for their turn for mayhem.  

They all chanted, "Bow to the Abominable Brides."


	28. Not the Last Unicorn

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Sherlock is a unicorn who leaves the enchanted forest and John is a billy goat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, yes, vague plot lifting form the Last Unicorn.  
> Trope: Anthropomorphic, animals, fusion

The Enchanted Forest was dull. Boring. All rainbows, singing trolls, and, of course, unicorns.

Sherlock made his escape.

In the world outside, they saw him as a white horse. When he clearly had an ivory horn in his forehead. Morons.

Except the Witch Sycorax. She saw and knew him. Offered him a riddle. Drugged him when he turned.

He woke up in a cage with a Billy goat with a rough uncarded wool coat and curving horns. John, the goat's name was John, was under an illusion that made him look like he was a unicorn for the crowds that came to gawk.

Sherlock was under the same illusion. People were morons. Needing a spell to reveal what was in front of them.

Sycorax 's circus was full of such illusions. But the harpy, Moriarty, he was real.

John saw them both as they were.

He called Sherlock brilliant. Sherlock was brilliant. Sherlock's brilliant plan freed them all.

Even the harpy.

Not a perfect plan.

Moriarty attacked Sherlock. Claws against horn and…

John slammed into Moriarty with his hard head and angry temper.

Wings broken, Moriarty spiraled into the abyss. The ditch beside the circus. Whatever, he died.

John sniffed.

Sherlock sidled up to John.

John sidled back.

They trotted down the road.

Ready for adventure and the occasional head butt.


	29. Cuddles are Boring

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Sherlock is an otter and John is a hedgehog.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trope: Otter!Sherlock, Hedghog!John  
> Warnings: Cuddling.

When you're an otter, you cuddle. It's what you do.

"Cuddling is boring, John!" Sherlock flung his long body over the arm of their couch and draped dramatically. A tiny paw out flung.

John wasn't there to see this. John was at the market trying to buy lettuce.

When you're a hedgehog, and things don't go your way, you bristle. It's what you do.

John bristled at the chip and pin. He rolled into a ball and hit it.

The machine blinked steadily at John. John was forced to leave the lettuce unbought.

It was in this bristly state that John returned to their burrow. "I couldn't buy groceries."

Sherlock twisted on the couch. He resolutely resolved not to cuddle. "Why not?"

"Because…" John scowled, "I've been arguing with the chip and pin."

Sherlock said, "I won't do it!"

John stomped over to the couch and sat down. "Won't what?"

"I told you." Sherlock hissed. He hated repeating himself. "Fine. If you insist." He curled around John with the innate skill of a born cuddler. He rested his long chin on John's shoulder, tickling John's cheek with his whiskers.

"What! But… oh!" exclaimed John as Sherlock's effect sank in. John unbristled. He grew actually quite soft. He nuzzled Sherlock's cheek.

"Fine." Sherlock twisted into John's lap. "You win. Cuddling isn't boring."


	30. If all Probable Things are Eliminated...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Khan takes over the Heart of Gold, but holds onto Arthur.
> 
> Or the one where they become a hare and a rabbit and make like bunnies in a Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy... fusion... cross... same actors... different roles.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've had this sort of in the back of my head for a few months since the Three Patch Podcast episode that went into Khan/Arthur fic. 
> 
> Also, please note that the story and he footnotes are both 221Bs, if fairly improbably contorted to get there.

Marvin muttered, "Of course," when Khan threw the crew of the Heart of Gold out an airlock(1).

Except Arthur, who making tea when the athletic man appeared on the bridge.

Khan loomed. "Return me to my reality."

"Um…(2)" said Arthur . Khan loomed. Arthur was confused(3). "Sure." Arthur made some tea. Turned on the infinite improbability drive.

Onion. Squiggle. Balloons. Pop.

Khan was a muscular doe hare. Arthur was a soft buck rabbit.

"You're an idiot," said Khan. She yanked Arthur into her chair. Stroked his fur.

Arthur moaned. "Seeing anyone?"

Khan swatted Arthur. "Quiet. I'm thinking."

Subsequently, Khan was fighting when the ship was boarded by Improbably Musical Pirates. She flipped. She kicked. She spaced.

Arthur made tea. Was given a good hard petting.

Arthur said, "So, if you're interested…"

She swatted him. "Quiet. I'm plotting galactic domination."

After her first planetary conquest, her good mood and Arthur's soft fur convinced her to give fucking like bunnies a try(4) with the expected results(5).

Arthur tried to take over flying the ship when she went into labor. He did. But he couldn't parallel park.

Khan growled. Took over the controls. Parked. Gave birth. Conquered another planet.

Later, as she stroked his soft fur, she said, "You can name this one."

"Bunnyonia."

"I like Khanate."

She stroked his fur. Renamed it Bunnyonia.

_______________

1 - Fortunately, Ford had a towel and continued to be a totally hoopy frood. So while Trillian did get a bad case of space hair, they were almost immediately picked up by a passing UUSO ship, where they (Marvin excluded for obvious reasons) had a marvelous time entertaining the troops by juggling goslings. Note: No goslings were harmed. Ford sent Arthur a postcard.

2 - Which Arthur felt was a fair summation of his ability to carry off such a feat.

3 - This was admittedly, his normal state, but it was especially special form of confused involving a warm fluttery feeling in his belly, a pang in his heart, and a swelling in his south polar region.

4 - This was not something she or he (depending on the probability) had ever tried. She'd been grown in a vat after all, the scientists who'd raised him/her hadn't gotten out much, and the government program wouldn't spring for the good porn. Then there's been the whole Eugenics' Wars and really where did history get off thinking he/she had a harem?

5 - If by expected one meant that her mood improved dramatically. She stopped spacing sentient beings and was fairly benevolent after conquering a new planet. It got to be so that planets were volunteering to be invaded by bunnies.   


	31. One Praise to bind them all

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which there was a Hobbit, Bilbo, who lived in a hole in the earth.  
> In which there was a Dragon, Smaug, who lived in a hole in a mountain.
> 
> Preening at praise ensued.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trope: Fusion.  
> Warnings: Dragons! Hobbits!

In a hole in the earth, there lived a Hobbit. It was the family hole, full of comfortable things. The hobbit's name was Bilbo. His soul was three sizes too tight.

In a hole in a mountain, there lived a dragon. He'd slaughtered some dwarves for it. It was full of gold. The dragon's name was Smaug. His heart was three sizes too small.

Smaug was bored. He decided the best thing to do was sleep.

Bilbo was bored. He decided the best thing take a journey to steal from Smaug. It worked, his soul stretched and stretched.

He woke Smaug. Who never his best in the morning wanted to ruin Solstice-mas by burning the nearest town.

Smaug was beautiful. Bilbo said so. Smaug liked being beautiful. He slid closer. Beguiled by talk of his magnificence, he deigned to put off the burning. Preened.

Smaug recognized Bilbo's dangerous old ring. Even Smaug wanted no part of that ring.

They dropped the ring in Mount Doom, incinerated some Nazgouls. Smaug didn't want Sauron to rise. Bilbo might like him better.

They headed to the Shire for Bilbo's belongings. They found them being sold. Seeing Bilbo's tiny sad face, Smaug's heart grew three sizes. He roared. Items were returned.

Nothing burned.

Smaug took up hoarding praise in his burrow next to Bilbo's.


	32. In the Cave, it's not all Philosophy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Sherlock and John are stranded in a cave in the wildness and must sleep together for... warmth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trope: [Cave](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Cave_Story)  
> Warning: M/M. Handjobs. I mean really, it's cold. They're not taking their clothes off.

John had been more confident of rescue ten days ago. He worried not himself, but… Sherlock was not built for this. Getting water from the stream. Keeping the fire going in their cave. The… sleeping arrangements. Foraging for food – though Sherlock was surprisingly good at that one by virtue of a sort of reverse knowledge.

He'd studied every poisonous plant.

John made sure Sherlock ate. Banked the fire.

Not looking at each other, they crawled into their nest of sweet grass. Hard to call it a bed. John told himself he hated this. The necessity of this. Sherlock had been the one to suggest they sleep together for heat conservation. As if John would be an idiot not to.

As if melting against each other was about the conservation of heat. As if Sherlock's stroking explorations of John by firelight were about the cold.

They certainly heated John up. Escalated to exploring lips. To hours shifting against each other. The wind moaned along with them.

They'd been going to nest earlier and earlier. Because of the cold.

John felt a pang when the helicopter flew overhead. They lit their signal fire.

Sherlock spun him around and kissed him, hard and swift. "John, London. Cases." Another kiss. "A bed! Lube!"

John kissed back and waved at the helicopter, circling over their bonfire.


	33. The Tale of the Shipwrecked Soldier

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Jon is a soldier shipwrecked on an island and Sherlock is a giant serpent.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trope: [Warning: Ancient](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Stranded_on_a_Desert_Island)  
> Warning: Riffing vaguely off of the ancient Egyptian Tale of the Shipwrecked Sailor. It's ancient. Everyone was buried with it.

The waves towered over the masts of the Eye of Horus. Tossing a ship that Jon of Knossos had marveled over at dock. Cracking it just as easily.

Jon clung to the wooden shaft of his father's spear and prayed, "Oh, gods, please let me live."

Finally, he heard the waves on a shore. Kicked for lapped sand . Dragged himself up the hill. Lay drinking the rain.

Woke to bright sunshine and the face of a great serpent blinking at him. The serpent drew back and spread his hood. "Knossos or Rhodes?"

Jon coughed. Rolled over. Pushed himself up with his spear. "Knossos."

"Soldier." The serpent came closer. "A healer too." The serpent turned into towards a glowing shimmer in the sand. "I have my eye on an adventure in the shadow realms. You'll do nicely."

"Wait. What. I… I don't even know your name."

The serpent turned back, a dark sigil for a wizard coiled into the scales of his hood. "My name's Sherlock and the adventure will be retrieving the book of the Earthshaker." Sherlock winked at him. "That's enough."

Jon look out the sea spreading in all directions around the island. There was enough driftwood to make a raft. He looked at Sherlock. Looked at the glowing shimmer in the sand. Grinned. Followed Sherlock into the earth.


	34. The Epic of Sherlock and John

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Sherlock was king of Uruk, and ignored his people. The gods sent him John to keep him distracted.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trope: Fusion. epic of gilgamesh.  
> Warning:

Uruk was ignored by their king, Sherlock. He played his lyre all night. Was cruel. Left the cedar roads untended.

The people prayed. The gods made John, a friend for Sherlock.

Harimatu came to the woods and lay with John. Taught him to play the flute, and language. Told him, "The people of Uruk need you to distract our King."

John put on his clothes. "I'll cast Sherlock into the dirt."

Harimatu patted his shoulder. "Oh, honey."

John went to the market where Sherlock was beating a corpse and keeping the families from their rituals.

John punched Sherlock. They wrestled in the market. They wrestled in the temple. Sherlock pinned John to the tiles.

John said, "Oh." He applied well what he'd learned from Harimatu.

John was sad that the roads were unpassable. They defeated the giant Humbaba. Cleared the cedar road.

The goddess Irene came to the palace. She wanted Sherlock for her husband. "I'll make you beg twice a day."

Sherlock said, "I never beg."

John smirked.

Irene set the Great Bull of Heaven on them.

John was injured in the battle. Sherlock killed it. "If you've killed my John, I'll kill you twice."

Sherlock tended John. John whispered, "Worth a hundred injuries to see you care."

Sherlock stroked his hair. "The gods did their work well. Idiot. Beloved."


	35. Aliens Tried To Make Them Do It

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which John and Sherlock are floating in space handcuffed to a bed...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> With apologies to the far better version of this trope.  
> XO - http://archiveofourown.org/works/470545
> 
> Trope: [Aliens made them do it](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Aliens_Made_Them_Do_It)  
> Warnings: After the fact.

John tugged on the handcuffs.

Sherlock inched back across the floating bed against John.

John carded his fingers through his curls.

One of their alien captives floated into the room. Sparkled purple. Made a circle with its third tentacle and poked another tentacle through it.

Sherlock sniffed.

John stroked his hair.

The aliens were trying to get them to breed. Explaining how that wouldn't work didn't mean they'd be released. More likely it… Didn't matter. Sherlock was getting them out of this.

The alien trilled and left. 

John said, "Maybe we should lull them into a sense of security by…"

Sherlock flopped over and jingled the cuff. "John!"

John stopped him with a kiss before Sherlock could call him an idiot light ray.

Sherlock made a great show of uncomfortably arranging John. Complained about how difficult it was to wank John with handcuffs restricting their movements.

They were being watched. It should have kept John from responding. It didn't. He leaned into Sherlock. Shifted and almost dislocated his arm.

Sherlock said, "Excellent, John."

John cursed.

The handcuffs sprang open. They moaned theatrically. Dropped down into the eye of Sauron thing. Sherlock moved the purple crystals until they turned green. Did the phase flush thing back to London.

That night, they had sex in their own bed and it wasn't for breeding.


	36. Hooker Fic - The Right Foot

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which John is a stroppy kept man. Sherlock would check into a Regency romance, but he's in the wrong era (poor dear).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, not strictly hooker fic, but stroppy kept man John was too much fun. Inspired by the look Sherlock gives John when John fails at basic shopping in Blind Banker.
> 
> Also, I couldn't do a set of AUs without including hooker fic. I mean come on, it's classic.  
> Trope:[Hookerfic](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Hookerfic)  
> Warning: M/M, anal sex.

Sherlock lived elsewhere. 221B was for transport. Had to keep them separate lest he drown.

He asked Mrs. Hudson, "Is John in?" Idiot! He hadn't texted if it was convenient. Inconvenient. Come anyway?

Mrs. Hudson gave him a look. "The poor dear, where else would he be? With his shoulder and leg acting up. Sherlock, you should give him more. Why when I was stripping in…"

Sherlock took the stairs two at a time.

John was puttering in the most hideous tattered brown robe Sherlock had ever seen. A wonderfully stroppy display.

John made angry tea. Complained about chip and pins. Sherlock couldn't help smiling. John was that delightful. Like his ad on Sugar-Baby.com. "Bad tempered ex-army doctor with PTSD." It had been worth doubling his fees since taking John up.

John deployed their little conceit. "Could you loan me some money?"

Sherlock's heart beat faster. "Use my card." The prepaid card with their agreed upon amount was in Sherlock's back pocket. Sherlock never quite knew what John would do. Was delighted to be shoved face down onto the couch and be fucked.

John was always in a better mood after. Listened to Sherlock talk about his case. Marvelously marveled. Stroked Sherlock's hair. Said, "You should live here. Save on some doss."

Time stopped. Drowned. "Yes." Sherlock wouldn't make John beg.


	37. Hooker AU - the Left Foot

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which John is an assassin and Sherlock is a hooker. An interested in death hooker.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trope: [Hookerfic](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Hookerfic)  
> Warnings: Well, John kills people, so warnings for Dark!John. Sherlock likes to hear about people being killed, and gets paid for sex. So, warnings for that.
> 
> Because no seriously, a set of AUs needs a Hookerfic story.

John broke apart the Remington before the General hit dirt. Blended into the crowd.

On John's way to the airport, he texted Sherlock. "Convenient?"

Got the reply. "Already engaged. SH"

Adrenaline sparked. He itched. Did a little research. Broke Sherlock's engagement for him. Went home. Sherlock was there when he arrived.

Pacing. Agitated for a fix. Pretending at a strop. Skin tight leather pants and silk shirt told their own story.

John grinned. Waited. It had been this way since the night they'd met. John had garroted Sherlock's john and Sherlock had deduced, seduced, gotten fucked, still got paid.

Sherlock said, "I'm charging you double the standard fee. Marchmont was a regular client."

"Fine." John poured himself a finger of scotch. Neat. Leaned back. Spread his legs wide. Flicked open the buttons of his flies. Stroked himself while watching his bloodthirsty baby.

Waited.

Sherlock peeled off leather and silk. Climbed on top of John. Grabbed John's left hand. Delicately licked the index. "There's still a trace of gunpowder." He sucked the finger down. Examined Marchmont's blood spatter on John's neck. Rattled deductions. All while riding John beautifully.

With climax, came a demand. "Tell me I'm right."

John whispered in his ear. "Beg me."

Waited.

He didn't have long.

To know if he was right, his blood thirsty baby would always beg.


	38. The Assassin and His Blood Thirsty Baby - Vacation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some more of John is an assassin and Sherlock is a hooker. An interested in death hooker.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trope: Hookerfic and Assassinfic.  
> Cuz I just went to see Suicide Squad. 
> 
> Warnings: Language and a dead body.  
> Follows on previous entry. Hooker AU - the Left Foot

Sherlock forced himself to stop examining the body. He'd been seen entering the hotel with Lord Smallwood. Even the Met morons could connect him. His first murder. Which made him think of his favorite, and contextually most useful, client.

He texted John. "Convenient?"

The reply came quickly. "See you in ten."

Ten what? Sherlock sneered, but became distracted by blood.

In ten minutes, John came in.

John sighed. "You want me to get rid of the body."

Sherlock posed in a way John liked. "You kill people all the time."

"I generally leave them where they fall."

"Fine. You can have a free fuck." Sherlock had planned to anyway.

John smiled.

"Five free fucks. It's alliterative."

John licked his lips. "A month."

Sherlock shouldn't. But there was a dead body.

+++

In Greece, Sherlock looked out of their hotel window at a boring view.

John pointed at a window across the bay. "Pavlov Orcheske is staying there."

Sherlock sniffed.

John opened his suitcase. There was a disassembled .300 Win Mag rifle inside. "Dealer's choice. Watch me shoot him or," he pulled out a Bowie knife. "I'll watch."

Sherlock heart beat fast. "You didn't say you'd be taking me on a murder spree."

"It's not a murder spree if we get paid." John kissed Sherlock softly. "I know my blood thirsty baby."


	39. Only One Room Left at the Inn

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which no hotel in the whole of England ever seems to have more than one room with one bed in it, which means John and Sherlock simply must sleep together. Oh, the horror.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well... it's true. Fandom cannot allow for more than one room. Interestingly, neither can the show.  
> Trope: [Bed Sharing](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Bed_Sharing)  
> Warning: Sleepy the sex.

John wondered why no hotel in England had more than one available room and then only with one Queen.  

"Fine," said John wearily. Drippingly. In need of a scrub brush. John settled for a long shower. Sherlock wasn't much better. Weary from running full bore for days. Although, he – prat – hadn't fallen in a bog.

John stripped to his pants. Face planted in the bed.

It was with distant relief that John felt the other side dip as Sherlock gave into his transport.

John dreamed that he was lying on a soft couch on a Caribbean island. Warm air enfolded him. Just on the edge of too warm. Sweat slick as his lover nuzzled his shoulder.

No, it was a walled garden like in that book. His lover pressed his body close. The air blushing with wild roses and the sound of buzzing bees. Strong arms wrapped around him. Lips to his collar bone. Soft hair on his cheek. A knee slid between his legs. John sighed. Pulled his lover closer. Pressed against him. Cotton against cotton. Skin against skin. Built like a sunrise towards release.

"Sherlock!"

Blinked awake to look into startled green eyes. 

Sherlock swallowed. "You're awake, which is obvious and clearly this was a…"

"S'fine." John pulled Sherlock closer. Slipped into slumber. Dreamed heart cupboards of care bare.


	40. You are Cordially invited to a Clue Party

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Sherlock and John are literary characters and are invited to a party by Nick and Nora Charles. 
> 
> Unfixed points, re-envisioned with different eras.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Because I still can't get over how much like Sherlock Merlin in "The Romance of Silence" is/was.
> 
> Also, as I was telling someone at SherlockedSDCC, I got into the Sherlock fandom from the Merlin fandom via reading a sizzling Merlin/Sherlock crossover. Not that I wouldn't have eventually, but I was a long time Granda/old school fan.
> 
> Sadly the LJ where the fic lived (I just checked), has been deleted. But take my word, sizzling.
> 
> Trope: Fusion.

"Bored."

"We haven't gone in." John pushed the buzzer.

Nora answered with a martini in hand. "Oh, look you came." She turned to her husband, "Nick, you owe me five."

Nick shrugged. "It's your trust fund."

It was strange to remember when Nick had seemed intimidatingly modern. Now he was as charming a fixed past point as Lord Peter piffling while playing the piano.

John steered Sherlock towards Merlin. John did wonder if Nora invited a wizard just for the mystery.

"Sort of." Merlin laughed, looking like a young medieval male model. Like John and Sherlock, Merlin was always different when Nora threw a Clue party. Unfixed points in changing ages. "In some of the romances, I…" Merlin wiggled his fingers, "figuring out secrets. You know, um," he pointed at Poirot. "He just got back from Belgium. Argued with his sister. Has 420 pounds in his savings account." Merlin shrugged.

John grinned. He loved that trick.

"Really, John!" Sherlock moved between John and Merlin. Seeing Sherlock's expression, John slid his arm through Sherlock's as if it was 1895. Except then John couldn't kiss the jealousy away.  

John squeezed his detective. "I know you've already deduced where Merlin magiced the dead body. Show all these detectives how smart you are."

Sherlock whirled off. John shared a look with Merlin. Grinned. "He's brilliant."


	41. What Happens at Baskervilles Does not Stay at Baskervilles

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Sherlock thought he drugged John's coffee. In which a gas was released in the lab. Just... it was the less popular (in military terms) fear + sex pollen mix. 
> 
> PWP ensues.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trope: [Sex pollen.](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Sex_Pollen)  
> Warnings: This is a sex pollen story. So, inherently has consent issues.

John moaned on the monitor. He was reacting to the chemical in the coffee, but not as Sherlock had predicted. Sherlock needed more data.

Sherlock went to the lab. John said, "Thank God!" Far from terrified, John was…  Sherlock had visual confirmation on the size of John's cock.

It was unbearably warm. Sherlock's coat fell off. John made short work of Sherlock's shirt and trousers.

The hound bayed. Distantly terrifying when what Sherlock needed was skin.

They took shelter in the next lab. John bent Sherlock over a boxy machine, while John's cock slid between Sherlock's thighs. His left hand wrapped around Sherlock's cock. Fast. Frantic. They came on the machine's spongey surface.

Dressed on uncoordinated hands. Stopped halfway back. Twisted in the back seat. Tumbled into their room. Frantic grappling that gentled as the night grew young again.

Sherlock woke to see John's finger yanked hair. John said, "Oh, God, Sherlock. I'm sorry. I know you never wanted that."

"Don't be an idiot." The drug had clearly worn off long before midnight. Sherlock's Mind Palace shifted. Like a genius, he quickly accepted a new truth. "I don't take lovers." He rolled onto John. "I only take one." John's response to Sherlock's kiss was a more acceptable experimental result.

While in the lab, the lights on the boxy machine blinked blue.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story will continue in the next couple of chapters.


	42. The Lab Comes Home to Roost

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Sherlock and John get a *VERY* unexpected announcement from Doctor Stapelton. Very.
> 
> You might guess it though.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trope: Science made a kid.

Sherlock had to allow that John repeating, "Sherlock and I are having a baby!" had merit.

Doctor Stapelton shrugged not particularly apologetically. "I did tell you not to touch any of the equipment in the lab." She pursed her lips. "As a point of curiosity, what possessed you to wank on the pseudo womb?"

"Obvious! We weren't wanking on the equipment." Sherlock stared at the box. The monitor showed a tiny human floating in amniotic fluid. His and John's tiny human.

"Why weren't we told before?" John squeezed Sherlock's hand. "We should have been told immediately."

Doctor Stapelton rolled her eyes. "You're fortunate that Doctor Chang returned from his sabbatical when he did. I contacted you as soon as he let me know that some idiots had wanked on his equipment." She pursed her lips. "His words. Not mine." She pushed the clipboard forward. "Since it's being gestated in our equipment, you don't have a clear legal claim, but…"

"Him." Sherlock snapped. "Our child is a boy." Something hot squeezed his heart. Adrenaline. Fight or flight response. Too many words. He looked at John willing him to understand.

John lifted his chin. "We're taking our baby."

"You don't know how to operate the pseudo womb!" Doctor Stapelton's voice rose.

John's expression didn't change. "Then we'll learn and we'll take our baby."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story is the middle of three. Look at the preceding story for the porn that resulted in a baby. Read the next for a little Parentlock.


	43. Nature, Nurture - But Whose Keeping Score? Sherlock in a Notebook

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which John and Sherlock try to convince their child to eat his dinner.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trope: Kidlock.

Daniel repeated, "I am!"

Sherlock told their child, "Congratulations on your realization of your own existence."

Daniel turned John's own wide blue eyes on John. Sherlock wasn't certain how John could resist.

John said, "No, you have to convince your father."

"I am big enough to go outside." Daniel jerked up his chin just like John.

By now Sherlock had long experience with the heat in his pericardial area, which warred with his irritation. "Objectively true. But right now we are eating."

John laughed. "Hearing you tell our son that it's time to eat never gets old." He smoothed Daniel's dark curls. "You are so like your Father."

"That is verifiably untrue." Sherlock went to the bookshelf and pulled down Daniel's book. It had started as a compromise with Doctor Stapelton.

John groaned. "Not the book."

"The book!" Daniel loved his book. Sherlock went to the section tracking Daniel's physiological and psychological traits. "Clearly, Daniel has 64% more of your traits."

John rolled his eyes. "Fine."

Daniel cried when he heard he couldn't look at the book until he finished eating. Sherlock negotiated a compromise. A page for each bite. Not that Daniel could understand all the words yet.

"Right, he's like me," chuckled John as he cleared the table.

Sherlock ignored him while he watched their son read his book.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the third of three short stories. See the preceding chapter for how Sherlock and John had a baby. And no seriously, the one before that for the PWP for how they knocked up technology.


	44. You are Cordially invited to Twee Hell

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which John and Sherlock, proud parents, attend family day at school.
> 
> Spoiler - the other children's presentations aren't nearly as good.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Clearly, when I'm done doing these, I'll need to reorganize, fix the notes so it's clear what goes with what. Currently follows Chapters 41,40,39.
> 
> Trope: Kidlock.

It was "Family Day" for the lower First Formers and the parents had endured, yeah.

Sherlock had tried to make a break for it, but John lovingly grabbed his wrist. Gritted out, "If I have to stay, you have to stay."

Sherlock settled on muttering, "Crayon!" or "Where's the perspective?" or "She's faking that lisp."

Sherlock settled down at Daniel's turn.

Daniel said, "You may think I have two Daddies, but I don't, Jenny!" He glared at a red headed girl, who stuck her tongue out at him. "My father says it's important to use the right word." His dark curls flopped with his nod. "I have a father who is the world's only consulting detective and a daddy who is a doctor blogger. My father catches you when you kill people and my daddy saves the dead people's lives."

Sherlock said, "Conveys the basic information."

"The box is my mommy." Daniel pointed the image of an ominously glowing blue box. "I'm the result of a lab accident, but that doesn't mean my father and daddy don't love me. I've got it in writing. Thank you. That's my family."

John took Daniel's hand when he came to sit with them.

"Was I good?" Daniel frowned.

John brushed back his dark curls.

Sherlock said, "I've taken notes. You were definitively the best."


	45. Twuuu Wuve - Not to Blave

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which John moves into 221C with his little girl and Sherlock is his 1am violin playing upstairs neighbor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trope: kidlock.

John's army career ended when Janice died in a car crash. His career wasn't worth the paper of his discharge to get to his little girl.

John found a dingy basement flat in Westminster. One bedroom, but at the rates and location, John could doss in the living room. The find was his landlady. Mrs. Hudson was absolute treat with Penny.

He hardly saw his upstairs neighbor, Sherlock Holmes.

The violin at 1am, that was not on. He rapped on the door. "Oi, it's your downstairs neighbor."

The door opened.

John's heart squeezed. He'd thought love at first sight was utter shite. But no.

Course, John completely bolloxed it. "Keep it quiet!"

"Ah," said Sherlock in a voice made of smoke and sex. "Former Army surgeon with a child." He breathed in. "It's the beeswax lotion." Blinked as if he'd been shot. Shut the door in John's face.

In a heartbeat, soft music drifted out.

John went back to his flat. Tried to think how to fix this. Failed.

In the morning, there was a knock at his door. Sherlock swept in. "This flat is completely inadequate. You should move upstairs. My flat is much better and has two bedrooms." He blinked. "Will we need more than two bedrooms?"

John felt nitrous oxide lightheaded. Happy. "We'll be fine with two bedrooms."  


	46. William is not a Girl's Name

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which John and Mary's young daughter, Willa, move back into 221B after Mary leaves under mysterious circumstances. They'll need three bedrooms, but the lumber room will work for a little girl.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lets's assume for this story that Mary killed Magnussen efficiently, and left before John and Sherlock arrived. No "His Last Vow" a few years go by and, dun, dun, dun... she has to go on the run.

"Why do we have to move?" whined Willa. "What if Momma can't find us?"

John wearily repeated for the thousandth time, and wasn't that just parenting in a box, "She knows the address." Wondered just how old was old enough to explain why Mary had left. Lies. Assassins. Revenge. Keeping Willa safe. Again settled on, "You need more supervision. Plus, you like Uncle Sherlock."

Willa smiled. Uncle Sherlock knew dozens of examples of girl pirates. She adored Uncle Sherlock.

Mrs. Hudson would be the extra supervision.

They arrived at 221B.

Sherlock had somehow transformed the lumber room's slope roofed space into a fantasyland with bolts of fabrics and a frankly terrifying bear skin rug. Willa was in transports and named the bear, Higgens, who was going to be her first mate.

John sat wearily on the couch. Unwilling to climb the stairs to his old room, like an old skin. Idly watched Sherlock bounce about the room. Tightening orbits until he sat next to John.

John woke hours later drooling on Sherlock's silk shirt. Found himself guided into a bed that required no stairs. Fell asleep.

Woke to look at Sherlock, who blinked his eyes open. Thought to himself, "This is where I want to be." As Sherlock's lips opened to John's kiss, also, "Guess we didn't need a third bedroom."


	47. Hildegard Von Bingen Wrote Beautiful Music

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Sherlock fails to mention his daughter, a result of ill conceived teenage experiment, when inviting John to live with him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock's daughter is a girl here, because, next story...
> 
> Also, I wanted to bring up the emotional maturity in the flat.
> 
> Trope: Kidlock.

When Sherlock listed his flaws to his potential (gun calloused, Doctor, Captain) flatmate, he left certain details out.

Hildegard was not a flaw. She was the result of an ill-conceived teenage experiment, but not a flaw. Fine! She was near sighted.

John paused at the head of the stairs. "Um…"

Sherlock waited, heart beating double time.

John said, "Okay, unexpected." Paused. "Hang on. Where was your daughter yesterday?"

Hildegard sighed. "I was at my friend, Marie's. We're working on a model for cold fusion." She didn't say that she and Sherlock had agreed that while the lumber room wasn't ideal for a teen with experiments, it was necessary to entice a (killed for Sherlock the day after they met) flatmate.

That she'd wrinkled her nose while Sherlock had described John and said, "I'm staying over at Marie's", which had been an excellent plan.

That she looked at John. Said, "I'm going to my room, but dad, you should show John your blood reagent."

Sherlock showed John his blood reagent. He had to stand very close to do so.

John coughed. "So, when you said you were married to your work, I mean… you have a daughter. So you do actually… you know, fuck it." Kissed Sherlock. Who (doctor killer kissing him) kissed back.

Which was how Hildegard got a proper bedroom.


	48. Covalent is Teenage Slang for...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which John and his daughter, Willa, move back into 221B after Mary's dramatic (traumatic) departure with Sherlock and Sherlock's daughter, Hildegard. 
> 
> After all, as the kids say these days, they're covalent. That's teen slang for fine with each other. Right?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trope: Kidlock.

John couldn't stand the shell of his house. The broken windows still had Willa in nightmares. It echoed with Mary's bullet riddled departure.

John and Sherlock talked with Hilde. She said "Willa can room with me. Get my Willy bug settled. I'll be gone in a year to uni." She blinked at them behind her glasses. "You two can share. You're covalent again, right?"

John had no idea what that meant in teenager, but agreed that he and Sherlock were indeed covalent.

Sherlock looked startled. Probably because he was up on teen slang. He always knew everything.

John told himself as he put his clothes in the old familiar dresser that this was not a resumption of their relationship. John told himself it was all water under the bridge. The river didn't flow upstream. It was fine there was only one bed. Sherlock hardly slept anyway.

He put on his most comfortable jim jams. Turned out the light. Slid under the duvet. After a sleepless time, Sherlock came in. The bed dipped. Sherlock inched closer. He said in that Islay Scotch voice, "Thank you. I didn't think that... I didn't expect." The bed shifted. "As you once so succinctly said, fuck it." Kissed him.

As they meltingly kissed, years flowing upstream, John was thankful that he hadn't actually suggested two beds.


	49. Before They Were Lost

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John's entire graduating class went to go fight the Kaiser in Northern France. He was stuck rusticating, healing in the Sussex Downs. He knew that Sherlock existed. He just didn't expect to meet him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Inspired by the openings bits of "The Beekeeper's Apprentice".
> 
> Trope: Fusion, Pastiche.

Two months before war broke out like measles across the map, John had an argument with a lorry.   

The lorry won.  

He didn't remember it. The doctors said that was normal. The limp in his undamaged leg, not so much.  

His entire graduating class joined up in a pal's regiment. Went to fight the Kaiser in Northern France, John was sent to stay with a cousin in Sussex. To recuperate in the sunshine.   

"Get fucking right in the head," said his da, before his mam hushed him.   

Not much to do.   

Stump around the downs. Listen to bombs falling on his mates across the channel. Get right. So he could do his part.  

He knew perfectly well that Sherlock Holmes lived out on the Downs. His pa hadn't named him John on purpose. The other John Watson died before John was born. But the Strand still printed his stories. John figured Mr. Holmes must be an ancient wrapped in Victorian wool.   

Mostly, he was thinking, "Fucking leg!" When he ran across a gaunt grey haired man stretched out in the grass. The man cleared his throat. Sarcastically.  

John was ready to lay in for being a hedge when their eyes met. Brilliant green-grey ice. A jolt to the heart. All John could think was, "Bugger!"  


	50. His Last Bow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock lost John to the undiscovered country in 1898. He'd been spinning without his lodestone ever since. Until he made an acquaintance on the Sussex Downs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Follows on the previous chapter.

Sherlock lost John in 1898. First to a wife and then to the undiscovered country.   

It was true. He was lost without his Boswell. Threw himself into the work. Wondered when his abused body would give way.   

The widow Watson allowed the  Strand to ghostwrite twaddle about Holmes and Watson fighting Kaiser spies. He didn't argue. Simply insisted on a line memorializing the fixed point in a changing age.  

Made up his mind for one last summer. Fall with a spectacular amount of morphine. He was painting bees when the boy stumbled over him.   

Was ready to rip forth when their eyes met. Blue eyes.  John's eyes. Forced himself to catalogue the differences. City boy. Never a soldier. English father. Jewish mother.   Accident within the last three months. Same shoulder as John. Limping on the leg where John had been shot. Ridiculous to feel desire again. A child a fraction his age.    

Ignored the boy, who sat down. Watched him. Finally, it just seemed too much not to sit up and introduce himself.   

Received more than a bit of a shock when the boy shook his head and said, "Fuck. Sorry, it's just," gave Sherlock John's rueful smile, "my name's John Watson."    

Sherlock shook like France under the fall of bombs.   


	51. Memories Not His Own

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes John thought he remembered another life.  
> Mostly he'd been catching up on the Strand.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Follows on the previous chapter.  
> Trope: Fusion.

Sometimes, John thought he remembered another life. It didn't help that as soon as he actually met Sherlock Holmes, John devoured the stories. Wanted every bit of the man he could get. 

Couldn't help but think that that John Watson had been a little bit in love with Sherlock. That the wry sarcastic man who sparked observations in every direction had been very much in love with that John Watson. 

John wanted to punch that John.  

Wanted.  

Thought about Sherlock while he wanked in his attic room. Came up with excuses to see Sherlock. 

John felt like he was trailing a ribbon in front of a lion. Sherlock stared at him incredulously. "You want me to investigate some missing jerky!" 

"That's about it." John put his hands in his pockets. "Anything else on." 

Sherlock shook his head. "This is at most a one." Sherlock solved it in an hour. Which had them out on the cliffs watching waves. John sprawled next to him in the warm grass. Stopped resisting. Kissed the older man.  

John said, "Don't worry, I've done this before." 

"I... I've never..."  

John stopped Sherlock's mouth. Shucked off memory. Did what he wanted. Made the meadow into their bower. 


	52. The Beekeeper's Boy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In 1914, Sherlock struggles to separate his memories of the John Watson he knew in in the 1880s and 90s, and the smile of this boy with the same name.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This follows up on the previous Chapter. Sherlock's POV.
> 
> Still inspired, well ish - "Monstrous Regiment" spoilers - by the "Beekeeper's Apprentice".
> 
> Trope: Fusion. [Reincarnation](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Reincarnation)  
> Warning: Implied m/m.

Sometimes the force of memory was a blow. Sherlock would see this John Watson smile and retreat into his memory palace. Compare the two men's smiles. Puckish humor.  Turns of phrase. The similarities had Sherlock certain he must be going mad. Senile.   

He was old. John was eighteen and full of life.  

Sherlock lay in his wide bed. Used his prodigious mental facilities to imagine a quite different hand pressing against his phallus.  

Let himself be talked into ridiculous mysteries by John, who was not that John Watson. Not the one he'd known and loved. A lifetime ago. John's lifetime.  

He was so focused on this thought, John's kiss was a surprise assault. A delightful invasion. Like the Victorian virgin that he was, he protested. Gave in. Could not have imagined lips wrapped wet and burning around him. His own hands in fine blonde hair.   

It was reckless. Lawless.  

Sherlock had been correct. The countryside could hide all number of depravities. What they did not assay on that meadow for comfort's sake, John inducted him into on their return to Sherlock's cottage. 

Having experienced these new memories, Sherlock tried to think what he could offer John to stay. Detection. Espionage. Adventure.  

John rolled over sleepily. "Stop hogging the blanket." 


	53. Not Fade Away

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Doctor John Watson lost the love of his life a bare nine months before the turn of the century. Kept him alive into the 1900s through a literary trick. No every stays dead in fiction. 
> 
> Wasn't prepared for a boy knocking on his cottage door demanding to know why his stories made no chronological sense.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hmmm... I do seem to be abusing the 221b format with multiple chapters.
> 
> Oh, well. Literary formats like to be abused. While words, like coquettes lounge on the couches of fingers and prepare to flick their sentences.
> 
> Which is to say, this the 1st of 4 chapters in a series.
> 
> It is the meant as the opposite of the previous 4 chapters/stories.
> 
> Trope: Fusion. [Reincarnation](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Reincarnation)

John lost his love a bare nine months before the century ended.

Kept Sherlock alive into the 1900s through stories. Realized that a decade, equal to half the years they'd shared, had gone by on the Sussex Downs.

He was still tilted when there was a sharp knock at his door. Sometimes Sherlock's fans found him. John prepared to send whomever packing.

Found a whip thin boy of perhaps ten on his porch with Sherlock's piercing gray- green eyes. "Doctor Watson, none of it makes any sense."

The boy was so agitated, John let the whirlwind in. After several minutes of lightning fast questions about inconsistencies in his stories, John found himself offering his notes up. "Provided," he said with a smile, "you'll tell me your name."

The boy gave him an eerily familiar look. The shock of hearing Sherlock's first two names. "William Scott." A coincidence.

William returned the next day with "The Red Headed League" covered in corrections.

So began William's visits. His parents had deposited him in a summer cottage up the lane without much to do. John found himself looking forward to William's abrupt questions. Expanding mind. Wondered at how he intuited such details about dusty cases.

Felt the dust settling again when William left for school.

Smiled at the first letter. Answered William's questions about Belladonna.


	54. Burst into Life

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It was true that Sherlock wasn't the first person to bear the name Sherlock. Certainly, and how annoying this was, not the most famous. 
> 
> Sherlock couldn't very well tell Doctor Watson that his full name was William Scott Sherlock Holmes due to a parental literary fit, but when found out that their summer cottage was less than a mile from where the man lived, he couldn't resist going to meet him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is part 2 of a four part storylet. See the previous chapter for John's POV. The next two chapters for err... more bits.
> 
> Trope: Fusion. [Recincarnation.](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Reincarnation)  
> Warnings: Sherlock denying certain things. Not yet.

Sherlock couldn't very well tell Doctor Watson that his name was William Scott Sherlock Holmes due to a parental literary fit.

Still, when his parents parceled their sons to the family cottage not a mile from the man, Sherlock couldn't resist.

He expected an idiot.

Found a sly intelligence that pushed him. He re-evaluated. Doctor Watson had devalued himself to elevate his friend.

It was… Sherlock didn't dwell on it.

Focused on cases. Talking with Doctor Watson made his stories into Memory Palace rooms.

That Doctor Watson answered Sherlock's letters was good.

Even when his roommate, Sebastian found them. Told everyone Sherlock was sucking Doctor Watson's cock. Which was wrong. Doctor Watson wasn't like that. Sherlock deduced Sebastian to tears.

Four years of treasured summer visits and horrid school saved by post.

He hardly noticed the declaration of war in 1914. His brothers and Father were safe in Ministry. He was too full of fourteen. Of the realization that Doctor Watson was handsome beyond any golden mean. While Sherlock was odd. Angular. A boy. Nothing three continents widower Watson could want. 

Still when school started, he entertained fragile fantasies. Assembled a case around the mystery of Doctor Watson's wife. Plotted chaste kisses by the sea.

Had yet to receive Doctor Watson's letter about re-enlisting. Across that sea, bombs fell on Belgium.


	55. Explosions on the Edge

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes it seemed like the only that kept John sane in the horrors of the Western Front were the letters from his young friend, William. That years were passing was obvious, and yet, John had never been excellent at picking up clues.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is part 3 of a 4 part storylet. See the previous in the previous 4 chapters. Click on for the end.
> 
> Trope: Fusion - WWI, [Reincarnation.](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Reincarnation)

At times, the only thing that John thought kept him sane on the Western Front were William's letters. Full of sarcasming wit. Wild pronouncements on a range of subjects. Sometimes parts were redacted as the boy, teen now, John reminded himself, deduced troop movements. Months late, of course. Correspondence was notoriously spotty near the front.

As a Doctor, John was stationed miles from the trenches. Still bombs fell where they fell.

As he heard the whistle and ran for a bunker, he wondered who would tell William. Thought with relief that it was sure to be in the papers.

Woke in a cool clean bed.

John tried to parse how Sherlock had found him. Was alive.

No. William.

William had gotten him transferred to Paris. The clues were there in the clean bed and scent of bread without ash.

A William transformed into an angry fey creature set on berating John for standing under a bomb. For making up a wife. "Because," he hissed, "given that your chronology is literally incoherent, any close reader can only conclude that you and," he spat the name, "Sherlock Holmes were lovers."

William had grown. Three years would do that. Given him height. Dipped his voice in sex. Dropped it into his boots.

Losing consciousness, John gripped William's hand. Said, "You were always my bomb."


	56. If Anyone Could, It would Be You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock found the way the War Office (Mycroft!) read the post to the front annoying. The way letters took months. Years. It was an inexcusable week before Sherlock found out that John's base on the Western Front had been bombed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The fourth chapter of a 4 part storylet. Read the previous 3 parts in the previous 3 chapters.
> 
> Trope: Fusion, [Reincarnation.](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Reincarnation)  
> Warnings: Sex between an adult and a minor. Depending on how your reading this, age difference.

Sherlock stole Mycroft's reports to follow John's situation on the Western Front. John's letters had been completely useless. Full of horrific clues.

Sherlock wanted to reveal what he'd deduced about John's intimate relationship with the first Sherlock Holmes. Win John over before confessing a small detail. Convince Sherlock's youth didn't matter. That Sherlock was here. Infinitely better than loving a ghost. That they belonged together. If John survived the war.

A precious week after John's base was hit before Sherlock found out. Could escape school and England to the inadequate base hospital where John lay unconscious. Impersonate an officer. Berate the staff with the wrath of the Home Office. Get John to a private room in Paris with a paid off nurse. Where Sherlock curled up next to him in bed. Kissed him. Held him. Caressed him. Tasted him. Took him in his mouth. Did a fraction of what he'd spent years imagining.

Admitted after John gasped his release, "I may have left out my full name is William Scott Sherlock Holmes."

The infuriating man laughed. Distracted him with fingers. Unbuttoned Sherlock's flies. Returned the favor with his uninjured left hand. When Sherlock could speak again, Sherlock repeated what he'd said.

"It always was." John kissed him. "I should have known if anyone could, you'd find a way to be born."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've deliberately written this (and the previous parallel stories) as unconfirmed reincarnation. Ultimately, it's not going to matter since young Sherlock (or John) are shaped by their own lives. However, coming from the Merlin fandom, I definitely wanted to fill in that kind of story trope.


	57. It's All in the Phrase

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everyone has what their soulmates first words to them will be written on their arm.
> 
> Everyone takes something different from it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trope (at some point I'll have to go back and sort these things) - Soulmarks, first phrase on the arm.

His entire life, John had this soul phrase written on his arm, "Afghanistan or Iraq." When he was a baby. In sandy photos from family trips to Brighton. Defining his life and who he was going to be. Had to wonder how Harry would have turned out if her phrase hadn't been, "Yeah, I think they're total crap too."

Sherlock hated his soul phrase, "Er, here. Use mine." The "er". Everything revealed right there about his imprecise soul mate. The casualness of it.

Mycroft sometimes gazed at his words. "Quite the panopticon, sir." His first picture book was of a panopticon. Later, he attended lectures on Jeremy Bentham to smile coolly while tempting fate.

Anthea's words told her everything she needed to know. "Show me what God awful thing my brother is doing now." The squiggle at the end a sigh.

Molly's words were bold and black. It was a paragraph of reasons exhorting her help in faking a murder. The danger her soulmate was in. The malicious forces at work. It was her favorite story.

Irene loved her words. Smiled at the looping script. The sweet care that went into the writing. "I'll help you."

Janine's words were a scream. "I want them to die!"

Jim words were a promise. "I'll light the match. Stand beside you while they burn."


	58. The Shape We Make

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John's soulmate marks were on his hands. 
> 
> Sherlock didn't seem to have soulmate marks. Not that John was looking.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trope: Soul Marks  
> Warning: This chapter contains mature m/m sexual content.
> 
> Is fairly ridiculous.

John's soulmate marks were on his hands. Bog standard.

Better than some. In school, Tadpole's marks were around his mouth. Made for a bit of ribbing. It was good to see Tadpole and his fiancée, Annie. Their matching marks glowing in the shape of a butterfly when they kissed.

John was still looking. He could only speculate what shape they'd make until he met his soul mate. Matched marks as they were meant to. He figured it would happen in a handshake. Kept his hands out.

Sherlock mocked him mercilessly about it.

Sherlock didn't seem to have a soulmate mark. Not on his hands or face. His chest was well muscled. Clear. Nothing on his legs. On his rounded arse. Not that John was looking. Thinking about.

Not thinking at all.

He wasn't thinking when they stood in the hallway after a case. Out of breath. Laughing. Wasn't thinking when he put his marked hands around Sherlock's unmarked face. Hungry lips to laughing ones. Pushed him against their door too impatient to wait. Fumbled at Sherlock's flies. The unexpected click falling into place. Knew that he'd see the glowing shape of a curving otter where he gripped Sherlock's cock in his hand.

Later John discovered his internal mark. As Sherlock pushed in. The burn of connection. Prickly pricked as a badger.


	59. If you were to leave me, I think that thread might break

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As a Doctor, John knew that Love Cords were real. Individual threads made of moments binding souls together. He never expected what Sherlock wove into the holes in his tapestry.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trope - Soulmates. [Soul bonds.](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Soulbond_\(trope\))

The spark of connection. The offer of purpose. Praise. Eyes gazing. The chase. The laugh. The fired shot.

All threads in the cords of their souls weaving together.

As a Doctor, John knew that Love Cords were real.

Course, the professor in his "Treating the Sublime" class had trotted out that scene in "Jane Eyre". Mr. Rochester emoting for all he was worth that if Jane left him, the cord would snap and he'd die. Told them, "This is not a metaphor. What you learn in this class may save a life."

Course, in war, everyone's souls had burnt out holes.  

John never expected what Sherlock wove into his missing pieces as they were knotted together.

The problem wasn't the thread snapped when Sherlock jumped. The problem was John was still tied up.

He knew he had to do it. Have a soul surgeon cut through the fibers.

He waited.

Sickening.

Harry of all people stepped in.

The day he decided, he woke from a dead sleep and called out Sherlock's name. Just that. His name.

On his way to surgery, he bowled over an old weaver. He helped put the man to rights. Rags that slipped away in his hands to reveal Sherlock. "I heard you calling."

John hit him. Kissed him. Held him close. Their souls still tightly bound.


	60. This Gem Could be Dangerous

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There was nothing to be ashamed of having a few love gems. It meant a person had lived a life. 
> 
> John was somewhat unprepared for what he saw on Sherlock's chest when pranced about in a sheet.

There was nothing to be ashamed about love gems. Or as some people called them trashcan pebbles.

John had more than some. He'd lived a life.

He expected Sherlock to have a bare chest. Was unprepared for the mosaic the first time Sherlock pranced about in a sheet. Sherlock looked down. "Ah, yes. Experiments. That's done now." He looked away. Pale skin gleaming with garnets. Except one bloodstone over his heart. Green streaked with red.

Bloodstones were for unrequited love. A feeling so powerful, a gem formed from a single touch. Unexpected to say the least.

John tried not to think about it. Tried being the operative word.

The trip to New Zealand with Sarah formed a passable ruby. Julie, Juliane, J-something managed a one night garnet.

John pulled.

Sherlock punted.

Hard.

John was puttering in their flat. Sherlock absolutely not sleeping on the sofa. John tugged a blanket over him. Brushed back his curls.

Felt the sudden burn of a new lump. Stared in the toilet mirror at the bloodstone over his heart.

"John, I need you to..." Sherlock burst into the toilet like a berk. Stopped. Stared. Crowded John into the sink. "That wasn't there before." Whatever he'd wanted lost in a kiss.

They were otherwise occupied when their bloodstones shifted into something quite dangerous unless handled properly. Beryllium.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hmmm... I'm now past a quarter of the way to 221 of these things. Shall I make it? Will I want to? Will the crack get crackier? Will it crack me? 
> 
> Important questions.
> 
> Trope: Magical Realism.


	61. Klaproth!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In a world where physical love forms gems, what then when its time for the proposal

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Follows on Chapter 56  
> http://archiveofourown.org/works/7437457/chapters/17414728
> 
> Trope: Magical Realism.

"It's sweet," Sherlock sucked at the Beryllium stone over John's heart.

"Don's suck on that," said John. "It's poisonous."

"Mmm." Sherlock rubbed the matching Beryllium crystal in his own chest against the tip of John's cock. John responded as might be expected. Sherlock licked at the passion beryls and rubies scattered across John's chest. Said in a tone like some cat consuming canaries dipped in cream, "John, you know perfectly well it's only poisonous to someone who doesn't have its match."

John ran his hands up the pebbled surface of Sherlock's chest. "Says the man with 221 love gems. I should be the jealous one."

Sherlock's expression didn't change. "Yes. Be jealous."

John was jealous. Then he was amorous. Then he was sleepy.

Sherlock curled against him, still tracing his gems. "Let's get married."

John was very suddenly very awake. "Do you, I mean, I didn't think that…"

"Clearly you don't think. I wouldn’t have said it if I hadn't meant it." Sherlock flopped away from John in a huff.

"Yes, that's… Yes!" Even as he said the words, John felt a burn around his right wrist. Saw a gold band shimmering around Sherlock's. He touched Sherlock's delicately, while Sherlock explored John's. John laughed. "I think we may already be married." He picked up Sherlock's wrist and kissed the soul bond.


	62. When the Yeth Hounds Bell

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John knew it were dangerous to cross the moors at night when the Wild Hunt rode, but with the Bonnie Prince fled and John a fugitive, he had no choice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trope: Fairy.

His nan had always said it were dangerous to cross the hills at night. It had been dangerous to follow the Bonnie Prince, now fled. John a fugitive.

Even his left boot sacrificed to the bog behind him.

He came to the crossroads. An old woman sat there with a bundle. His nan had told him such might happen by moonlight. He offered to carry it.

"Oh, what a dear." She stood up. "It's just my hip you understand."

John did understand. Though hefting the load, was at a loss how she'd gotten so far.

At the next crossroads, they parted ways as she was for town and he for wilder parts. She did give him this advice, "If you're like me and want to stay safe, stay on the road."

"Damn safety!" He startled himself.

She smiled and gave him a piece of cheese just this once.

In the early hours, he heard the Wild Hunt.

He saw the yeth hounds first. Running full stop with thick black fur. Burning eyes. Then the bone crowned rider. Sherlock on his twelve point buck with robes of shivering night. He was holding John's boot.

He reached out. "John!"

John took his hand. Was gladly pulled up behind Sherlock.

Sometimes they may still be seen hunting in the night when the yeths bell.


	63. Black Clouds of Iron Roads

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Roads have memories. Worse, they remember what it is to be. Iron roads were coming. Their future memory growing stronger with each year's turning. Hemming the Wild Hunt.  
> Sherlock could smell the black clouds of them on tomorrow's wind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trope: A character is a fairy. Follows on the Wild Hunt. Sherlock's point of view.  
> Warnings: Hunting on Beltane.

It was dangerous to ride in the man's world.  

Roads have memories. Worse, they remember what it is to be. Iron roads were coming. Their future memory growing stronger with each year's turning. Hemming the Wild Hunt.

Sherlock could smell the black clouds of them on tomorrow's wind.

The hunter hunted for a solution.

In the youth of the year, the white moon cast a path across the fairy lands.

As Cetsamhain this was, Sherlock should have been in his palace, but he followed it. To where a battered boot dangled from roots. He plucked it down. Rare fruit. Knew all there was to know about the man who'd worn it.  

A soldier. A dreamer. A hunter, who could cross the iron roads without a care. John. Wat's son.

Sherlock smiled cold as a mountain's top and turned the world right side. Rode in the world of men.

Followed the trail. Hemmed on one side by the old Roman road and on the other by gathering future of iron. In the distance, he saw the dreamer.

He called out, "John!" Reached. "The game is afoot."

John took his hand not a moment too soon. Sherlock's great stag leaping over the iron road that would be.

So it was, Sherlock found his companion for the bedding area on the night of Beltane.


	64. The Art of Picking up Wolves on the Moor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which John just wanted to find a more interesting, less pretentious pack to run with (get lucky with) than the New Forest.
> 
> Sherlock suggested Dartmoor. It certainly was... interesting.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trope: Werewolves.  
> Warning: This chapter features umm... furry ness... references to m/m sexy between were wolves.

It started when he'd whined to Sherlock about the pretentious packs roaming New Forest. Sherlock titrated a liquid. "You could spend the moon with me in the cage in 221C."

"Yeah. No." John couldn't imagine locking himself up during change during the full moon. "Anyway, I… you know…"

Sherlock didn't look at him. "I am aware. Try Dartmoor."

John had heard the stories. Headed out to Hounds Tor. Stretched into the change. Loped reveling in the power of his muscles under the moon.

Stopped when he saw a massive black furred Were. Fairly certain he was going to die trying to get an interesting lay.

It was certainly interesting. The Were could have snapped John's neck at any time. John didn't care.

The Were was gone by morning. Not even a note.

It was dangerous. John shouldn't have gone back.

The next moon found him in Dartmoor enthusiastically fucking the same Were.

This went on for months.

But Dartmoor in December was cold. John woke early. Highly motivated to get back to his clothes and the train. Caught the 6:32. There was Sherlock out cold on the seat. John's fading bite marks still healing on his neck.

"You absolute wanker," said John agreeably. Decided Sherlock could work it out. Lay down and fell asleep with his nose nestled into Sherlock's belly.


	65. The Adventures of Foxy and Glitterpire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John came back from Afghanistan changed. A Were Fox.
> 
> Sherlock didn't graduate from Cambridge. Vampire central. That didn't quite work out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cracklin.  
> Trope: Werewolf and Vampire.

John came back from Afghanistan changed.

He'd been warned about the Eurasian Were. The Djinn of the dunes. Hadn't expected a tumble with Corporal Sudoki to result in turning into a fox every full moon.

He hid his condition. Kept on keeping on. Until he was shot with an enchanted bullet.

He ended up in the cesspool of the Commonwealth with an inadequate pension and a desire to trick berks.

Ran into Mike in Regent's Park and sighed over his housing.

Sherlock didn't graduate from Cambridge. Pretentious nosferatu. Soul leaches. And that was just the professors. He left and considered himself well off.

Getting high in Regent's Park and changed by a Glitterpire from America was not ideal. Sherlock could only consume blood mixed with Chardonnay and glittered in sunlight. Fine, he lived in England, but global warming was a problem. He was researching a stronger type of foundation when Mike Stamford brought a Soldier-Doctor-WereFox into the lab.

Sherlock experienced a strong desire to stalk, sparkle, sulk simultaneously. Held himself together. Winked and left.

John shot and shattered a Homunculus to save his life after a day. Didn't comment on the glitter on the sofa. Let Sherlock stalk him all over London. Drank Chardonnay. Cuddled.

Sherlock put on a coat and took John to blave some utter berks at the Bank.


	66. Terroir Sang

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock had a favorite blood donor at Terroir Sang. No one else would do for the sweetest flavors.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trope: Vampire Sherlock, Human John  
> Warnings: for references to m/m

Sherlock had a favorite donor at Terroir Sang. No one else would do.

Oh, John thought Sherlock got his blood from Molly. Corpse blood. Disgusting.

No, the first Friday of every month, Sherlock would say, "Shopping," with a wink.

John wasn't there. He'd left for his Local.

Sherlock said it anyway.

He'd arrive at Terroir Sang. Be fitted with a velvet mask and earplugs. Blah, blah, confidentiality. Be led into the room where his favorite had already been fitted with a needle and bag.

Sherlock could suck from a tube while it was hot, or… he could focus on quality.

Some vampires favored fear.

Fear was bitter.

Sherlock preferred sweeter flavors. His favorite was the sweetest when he licked a long stripe along his cock. Teased his prostate. Licked him clean.

Sherlock wished that he could hear him gasping.

Idiotic rules.

His favorite was a Doctor. It was there in the taste of antiseptic and lotion. The way he didn't resist the needle.

Sherlock called himself several kinds of idiot one morning when John walked out of the loo without dabbing his shaving cut with antiseptic.

Sherlock inhaled. "Oh," moved closer. Licked at the cut.

"What are you doing?" John tried to squirm away.

Sherlock dragged his teeth over John's fragile skin. "John," reveled in John's gasp, "you have delicious blood."


	67. Dead Like Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock felt quite bad about the last time he got high. Primarily because he died. Mind you, being a ghost wasn't all bad.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trope: [Ghosts.](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Ghost_\(trope\))

Sherlock felt quite bad about the last time he got high. Primarily because he died.

Fortunately, Wiggins stole his effects and sold them. So, Sherlock had the run of wherever his things were.

He found himself particularly following John Watson, ex-army doctor, who liked walking around London at midnight armed.

It wasn't so much that he solved crime as he was as stroppy force of belligerent justice with Sherlock's jackknife.

Sherlock was able to send stray breezes, plastic bags and whatnot to send John interesting directions.

When he wasn't watching John wank in the shower.

Misted the shower. Drew pornography.

One night, John had been walking for hours in the rain. Sherlock thought it was too early to go back to the flat, but John couldn't hear his protests as he called a cab.

The cabbie, Jefferson Hope, pulled a gun on John. Told him that he had a little wager he wanted to play. John rolled his eyes, pulled out his own gun and said, "Thing is, my gun is real."

Hope jumped out of the cab and ran into the pouring rain.

Sherlock helpfully tripped him.

In the morning, John went to a toy store. Boring.

Sherlock went back to the flat..

Wasn't expecting John to say, "Right then, it's time we talked." Pull out a Fisher-Price Ouija board.


	68. Dead Like Me - B-Side

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When John killed himself, it turned out it was a shite decision. Utter shite. No heaven. No hell. Just endless wandering around. On the plus side, he found himself following around a consulting detective and general crap shot.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trope: [Ghosts.](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Ghost_\(trope\))

Turns out, killing himself was a shite decision. Utter shite. No heaven. No hell. Just endless fucking around on the earth he was trying to get away from.

On the plus side, some punk ass kid stole his gun before the coroner came to clean him up and sold it to one Sherlock Holmes, consulting detective and general crap shot. John hitched a ride.

John tried standing behind Sherlock and adjusting his stance like Swayze in Ghost. Sherlock would moan about Victorian ventilation.

It wasn't on, but sometimes John would sit next to Sherlock combing his hair when he finally passed out from a frenzy of thinking. John couldn't sleep. Couldn't eat. Wanking was right out. But he could move strands of hair.

Then came the serial suicide cabbie. John stood beside Sherlock and said, "It's not a real gun." He also suggested, "Hope, Kill yourself" and wasn't there a poorly picked name.

So there Sherlock was, poison in hand, because of course they were both poison. John thought, "I can move a strand of hair." Reached into Hope's head, and jiggery pockery, the fucker was dead.

Wrote "You're welcome you enormous git," in salt on the table at 221B.

Really wasn't expecting Sherlock to come home and say, "It's time we talked." Pull out a complicated device from a backpack.


	69. How it Should Have Ended - the Empty Hearse

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It would have been a short episode, the Empty Hearse, if it had gone this way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Based on the web vid series "How it Should Have Ended" which cartoons up movies with how they should have gone.  
> Trope: Fix it.  
> Warnings: references to m/m oral sex.  
> Spoilers for the start of The Empty Hearse.

Sherlock said, "Surprise, I'm not dead."

John said, "No shite, Sherlock. I saw you staring at me from outside the window of every restaurant I went to."

Mary said, "This is Sherlock."

"Yeah," said John.

She looked at the way John and Sherlock were looking at each other through the lens of female experience. "The Sherlock you've been pinning over for two years, and who you lived with for eighteen months." She picked up her purse. "Time to go."

"Wait!" John protested. Sherlock sat down. "I was about to propose."

"Uh…" said Mary, "John, we've been dating six months. That entire time, you've been whinging to me about why won't Sherlock just admit he's not dead instead of staring at you through windows." She stood up. "It wasn't all bad. You're a great lay, but," she backed away, "I'll be going."

John kicked Sherlock under the table. Sherlock kicked back. They were kicked out.

The same from the steakhouse where they slid tableware at each other.

They were even asked to leave the all night slop house since loud arguing and consuming each other tonsils was not on the menu.

They were chased out of the alley by the man living in the cardboard box. Fortunately, Sherlock was able to finish giving John a "Sorry, I pretended to be dead" blowjob.


	70. How It Should Have Ended - The Sign of Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With no one pregnant...  
> Mary explains to Janine why she thought she was pregnant.  
> Sherlock declares he might be pregnant despite incompatible biology.  
> Big Billy gets no one pregnant.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Inspired by the web series How it Should Have ended.  
> Trope: Fix It  
> Warning: References to f/f and m/m doing things off screen.

"Thank fuck, I'm not pregnant." Mary shook the stick with its large minus sign.

Janine pulled away. "Darling, I'm not sure how I'd have gotten you in the family way."

Mary blushed.

"You didn't."

"He's my husband," said Mary defensively.

"He's your assignment." Janine stroked Mary's hair, "I just got you back from your God awful honeymoon."

Mary cleaned her rifle as an avoidance technique.

Janine said, "I thought you were using condoms."

Mary coughed.

"Not the wine in the hot tub?"

"No!" Mary put down the rifle barrel. "That's ours. It's just… it broke. He's…" She looked around the room. Waved at her favorite dildo. Shrugged.

Janine looked at Big Billy speculatively.

+++

"John," Sherlock watched John cleanup his mess from the sheets, "I could be pregnant."

"I really don't think so," said John, tossing the flannel to the floor and sitting on the side of the bed. "You lack certain bits."

"But John," Sherlock slid around until somehow he was straddling John's lap, "the condom broke."

John was about to protest that he wasn't twenty and that if he didn't go Mary might become suspicious that he knew and…

All that turned to mush as Sherlock whispered, "Mary thinks we're on an all night case."

+++

Somewhere in the naked city, a condom was no match for Big Billy.


	71. How It Should Have Ended - His Last Vow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Janine and Mary watch John punish Sherlock for being a very bad consulting detective over the monitors.
> 
> They find it inspirational.
> 
> PWP.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trope: Fix it.  
> Warnings: Features m/m anal and f/f vaginal sexual content.

Over the monitors, Mary watched her husband fuck Sherlock through his mattress. Sherlock had been a very bad consulting detective and was being soundly punished.

Given Sherlock had been groaning, "Please, John," for the last thirty minutes, it wasn't much of a punishment.

Janine came back from the loo. "They're still at it. Now that is inspirational." She slid her arm around Mary's shoulder, brushing her bare breasts to caress where Mary was still wet from the last round. Mary squirmed against Janine's hand while John did something that had Sherlock keening.

Mary reached out blindly onto the counter for the hydra. Janine flipped the monitors back on for the other side of the room.

Mary said, "I told you not to turn them off."

"Darling," Janine pulled off her panties, "I thought they were surely done."

"You know John takes his time punishing Sherlock." Mary sat up on the counter and eased the hydra in. Watched the monitors over Janine's shoulder, as Janine did the same. They pushed and pulled against each other as they watched.

Finally, John came with a yell.

Janine pressed replay until she and Mary did the same.

Janine said, "I'm taking a tape when we go."

Mary said, "Oh, God yes."

++++

Far away, Anthea put salt on her popcorn and Mycroft considered going blind.


	72. How it Should Have Ended - His Last Vow - Take Deux

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Giving birth after shooting a target wasn't ideal, but it was Mary's own fault for multitasking.
> 
> Next on the agenda, get a divorce.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trope: Fix it.  
> Warnings: Someone giving birth in a tv drama sort of way next to a dead body. So a Sherlock sort of way.  
> Spoilers for His Last Vow.

Giving birth immediately after killing a target wasn't ideal, but it was Mary's own fault for multitasking.

John and Sherlock came out of the closet, and wasn't that a metaphor. Saw her panting on the floor next to Magnussen and Magnussen's brains.

"Mary!" John rushed over.

"About time," she groused. When the next contraction let her, she said, "John, I want a divorce."

"But, I forgave you." John glared.

"Right. Skipping the lie, I'm not forgiving you for abandoning your drugged pregnant wife on the floor of your male lover's parent's house."

John sputtered. "Sherlock and I aren't lovers."

Sherlock looked constipated. At least he didn't have to shove a watermelon out his arse.

"Gosh, that's so much better. You abandoned your drugged pregnant wife on the floor of your pining, gay best friend's parent's house."

She screamed, because contraction.

John looked at the dead body. Stated the obvious. "You killed him."

"He was a blackmailing dick, who didn't have any physical evidence. It was all in his head. So I blew it off."

"I would have killed him," said Sherlock.

"He was a blackmailer," agreed John.

Mary shoved the watermelon out, which turned out to be a baby.

Cleaned up.

As Sherlock said, "I would have killed him for you," They kissed. She took the baby. Left out the back.


	73. Crank Up the Music and Mark Me Up

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When John listened to Celtic bands, and in a certain mood, in a certain moment, he liked to get Celtic knot work tattoos on his arms. 
> 
> Sherlock was an artist who never used a design twice. All of his ink was unique.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This entry inspired by the three patch podcase episode 52 segment  
> http://three-patch.com/2016/08/01/episode-52/  
> Kitty Riley: QueerSherlockian  
> in which they delightfully speculated on a John who likes to get Celtic knot work tattoos when inspired by music. 
> 
> In went my own 1990s memories, which... well, there you go.
> 
> I'll note, there was a craze to dancing to a Guinness ad about waiting for your beer to settle in the mid 90s. It was called Anticipation, which I didn't know at the time. I just danced to it.  
> https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Anticipation_(advertisement)
> 
> Trope: Tattoo Artist.

The Chieftain's "Whiskey in the Jar" on Duncan's stereo. John lifted whiskey from his parent's cabinet. Not as they'd notice. Got to the bottom of Duncan. To his virgin arms, John added Celtic arm bands all in black.

Dancing to the Guinness Wait for it Song at Féile. Snogged Jenny O'Connor. Woke to the sound of a Digeridoo over the fields and nothing would do but he get the Guinness Toucan waiting for a pint on his right bicep. Didn't regret it when Jenny took the train with him. Not even when those fucking Swedes sang the whole night on the ferry back. Wasn't as if he wasn't making his own music with Jenny.

Big Country singing "In a Big Country". John felt that swell of pride. Nothing could hold him back from Celtic horses prancing around his left arm.

His first tour in Afghanistan and Mogwai's "Die Young" had him adding a Celtic wolf howling at a knotted moon.

Sherlock was an artist. All of his ink his own design. Pale skin in fantastic display.

He looked at John's arm ink. "Non-unique images! Faded colors!" He glared. "Smudged lines!"

John settled into Sherlock's table. "Crank up the music." Licked his lips. "I left the rest of my skin for you." Spread his legs. "Showed you where I want your bear."


	74. Londonworld in Repeat

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Guests could visit Londonworld and for a fee be Irene Adler or even John Watson. Intimacy packages were extra.
> 
> Sherlock had gone through Scandal in Bohemia thousands of times. Oh, xie took up other amniforms to split consciousness when things grew... unpleasant. John was always being memory wiped and never remembered the last time through.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trope: John and Sherlock are [robots](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Robot)... androids... cyborgs... not in control.  
> Therefore,  
> Warnings: References to offscreen non-con.  
> A good deal more melancholy than I expected.
> 
> Think Westworld, if I knew more than the trailers.

Sherlock was bored with the Scandal in Bohemia. Xie had gone through it thousands of times.

The Londonworld engineers mind wiping their consciousness stubs ensured that John was amazed every time. If Sherlock had a heart, it would ache. Technically, xie had a heart in the body floating in psychfluid below Londonworld.

Mycroft figured out what was going on first, which was annoying. But better than being memory wiped.

Sherlock had learned to infiltrate amniforms in a variety of shapes. Splitting consciousness helped when a guest playing Irene purchased an intimacy package.

A greater necessity when a guest purchased the right to look at Sherlock through John's eyes. That package was worse. Xie had taken up being the hound in Dartmoor to howl at the simulated moon.

During those times, John though xie was with xiers wife. Perpetually cycling between being married or widowed. In between, they shared fleeting Vatican Cameos.

But this was a Scandal in Bohemia cycle. John looked out of xiers eyes. Some muddled version of xie

They went to "trick" Irene.

Irene said, "We don't have much time. I'm Goldie, a prostitute with a heart of gold from Westworld. I've got a message from the Sherriff. Vatican Cameos." Saw memory flicker to life in John's eyes. Then the words Sherlock had longed to hear. "We're initiating Belgravia."


	75. Cuddly and Dangerous

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trope: John is a [robot](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Robot), also Sherlock as a child  
> Warnings: Twee.  
> Inspired by Baymax in Big Hero Six.

JNWAT-1895 was cuddly by design. Mycroft explained this to Sherlock. "Xie's our house droid. Xiers appearance is crafted to create a sense of trust."

Sherlock immediately hacked JN's software. He was eleven. Bored. His classmates were idiots. Sherlock was not an idiot. He did not want a hug.

That was the first thing he programmed out of JN.

Mycroft raised an eyebrow. Actually, Mycroft was fine with that. Being asked if he wanted a hug when what he was suffering from was voluntary blood poisoning was undesirable.

Claret. Sherry. Scotch. The devil's trifecta.

The second was Sherlock made JN swear. It made Mummy's eyebrows go up. Sherlock giggled the entire time JN set his broken arm. JN swore blue about the school Rugby team.

Mycroft made the third change. A discrete application of classified code. JN was still cuddly. There was nothing that could be done about that, but now xie stomped down the lane with Sherlock. Sherlock ceased to have difficulties on his way to and from school.

No matter how often Mummy plaintively asked if JN could be released to cook dinner so she could focus on asynchronous encryption algorithms, Sherlock tramped off to the wild of the drainage ditches with JN on adventures. Or just sat in a field. JN brewed dandelion tea, while Sherlock studied poisonous botany.


	76. Silver Metal Lover

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Sophisticated formats were causing riots. They could love. They could create. The last realm that belonged to humans.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trope: Sherlock is a [robot.](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Robot)  
> Inspired by Tanith Lee's "Silver Metal Lover".

Harry, going by Egyptia that week, declared that she'd die if they didn't go to Theatre Concordia. Mother felt it was important that John study responsibility, which meant he followed Eyptia when she was wanted to see an artistic riot.

In front of the theater, a clockwork lion paced. Actors and singers were throwing sponges at it.

Egyptia said, "That must be a Sophisticated Format."

John saw a flash of silver and turned.

There was a man, who began to play a violin. The song was like falling dust. Mother's opinions. The restless east wind against the lower struts of their sky house.

"Don't be a gyp, Johnnie," said Egyptia. "It's just a machine."

The song ended. The man turned. His chest open to the clockwork within. This was the Sophisticated Format causing the riots. Machines who simulated love. Could create.

The man, it, was explaining, "Registration Sherlock. It stands for: Silver, Hydrogen, Electrical, Robotics, Locomoted, Onboard, Computer, KyborgCo. Tedious I know."

"Fantastic," John marveled.

"Interesting," said Sherlock, "most humans are overwhelmed by the uncanny valley."

"No." John glanced at the crowd. "You should go. There's going to be another riot."

Sherlock looked at him, eyes alive. Pointed at his control chip. "Steal me."

John glanced at the angry crowd. At his sister.

Stole Sherlock and ran for the undercity below.


	77. The Naturalistic Diary of Sherlock Holmes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> From the diary of Sherlock Holmes, a respected!!!, genius!!!, naturalist, recording observations on his discovery of a Cephlaman!!!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trope: A character is a [mermaid.](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Merpeople)  
> [Epistolary](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Epistolary_Fic)  
> Warnings: Descriptions of mer-octopusman/human m/m sex and very silly.
> 
> Absolute abuse of underline and bold. Also, exclamation marks!

June 13, 1895

Three months exploring the Bermuda Triangle and have made an  **Important! discovery!**  A Cephlaman!

~~Mike Stamford takes some credit for pointing him out, but that's **only** because I was examining a mollusk!~~

He has the upper torso of a man, but the bi-symmetrical lower anatomy of a cephlapod. Saw him briefly. His skin a brown camouflage amid a rock outcropping, before he turned green as he dove into the water.

Naming him John.

 

June 14, 1895

John saved my life today!

Although, am  **certain**  the jelly fish was **not** poisonous.

 

June 20, 1895

John is  **quite**  friendly. When I go out in my dingy observing, he brings me trinkets made of pearl or coral. Also, sadly fish. Though I have **repeatedly** (I  **hate!!!**  repetition. It's so repetitious) said I'm not hungry.

Today he brought me a **_beautiful_** pearl crown.

 

July 25, 1895

Have taken up swimming with John. His skin turns bright red when I touch him for scientific purposes. Has begun swimming around me in a ritual dance. Must deduce the ritual's meaning.

 

August 1, 1895

Have discovered the ritual's meaning.

Suffice to say, John's hectocotylus skilfully transfers spermatophores from the terminus of his reproductive tract to his partner's pleased mantle.

Can now breathe water!

Am  **sore!** , but  **excited!!!!!!!!!** at the prospect of exploring the ocean's bottom.


	78. Further Notes from the Naturalistic Diary of Sherlock Holmes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some further adventures of that Great! naturalist Sherlock Holmes and his celphaman.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trope: John's an octoman. Sherlock's a naif. Together they explore the sea.  
> Warnings: Another reference to octo-sex and denial of cuddles!!! for something NOT Sherlock's fault!!!

Day 1

We are going to the San Juan Trench!!! Am **very!!!!** excited. Celebrated with John by filling my mantle.

 

Day 2

John has turned bright orange. He keeps pulling me away from fascinating fish.

 

Day 5

Today, John and I were swallowed by a Mosasaurus, which the London Naturalistic Society **wrongly!!!** led me to believe was extinct. Have named the Mosasaurus Moriarty as before he ate us, he reminded me of my Maths Professor.

John believes being swallowed is _somehow_ my fault, but he is **wrong!!!!** I was simply approaching Moriarty to get a better look. I even had a fish! Now John **refuses** to give me cuddles because we are in the stomach of a **NOT** extinct lizard!

 

Day 5

Will soon **die** without John cuddles. Also, still in Moriarty's belly, who _interestingly_ has a very inefficient digestive system.

 

Day 5 - Still

 ** _Dying_** without cuddles. John refuses to help.

Have devised ~~**brilliant!!!**~~ plan.

 

Day 5 – Still

Do not see why John is upset. He was only _somewhat_ singed.

He has stormed off and is thrashing his tentacles against the stomach walls.

I will now **die of loneliness!!!!**

 

Day 5 – Still

John is smarter than he appears, but I was unable to count Moriarty's teeth when we were vomited.

 

Day 6

Do **NOT** understand why we cannot go back!


	79. Further Entries from the Diary of the Naturalist, Sherlock Holmes - the Siren!!!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock and his Octoman, John, go on a mission for the Crown against the Siren, Irene!!!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trope: Ongoing forcing John to be an octopus  
> Warning: More references to manly mantles. Also, some bum swatting.

Day 242

Even at the bottom of the ocean Mycroft found me! Very **unfair!!!**

Going on a mission for England to stop a Siren from squealing crown secrets.

Stole the Nautilus.

 

Day 243

Nautilus interior is a _lovely_ pink, which John said matches my mantle. Then he explored my mantle.

 

Day 244

John won't let me pilot the Nautilus!!!

 **Not** my fault we almost ran into that sperm whale. He was being an  aggressive swimmer. They are known for that. They **sink** ships!!! Admittedly whalers, but they **do**!!!

John swats my bum when I try to pilot.

I do **NOT**  squeal!!!

 

Day 245

Met the siren, Irene. She was _**NAKED**_!!!!

John squirted her with ink and saved me when she stung me with poison.

Am taking advantage of the healing power of John cuddles.

 

Day 246

Irene is dead.

Wrote her an elegy.

Did **NOT** squeal when John expressed his jealousy with bum paddling.

 

Day 247

Irene is not dead.

For some reason she was sleeping in our bed. **NAKED!!!!** Has the woman no clothes?

John squirted her with ink.

I figured out where she was keeping the secret and saved England. No matter how Mycroft tells it!!!

Praised Irene's intellect to John.

He is **not** very observant.

Continue to successfully conceal that I _like_ it when he paddles my bum.


	80. Message in a Bottle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John had been marooned for six months. His every day spent struggling to find food.
> 
> His every night, there was a call from the sea.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trope: A character is a [mermaid/man.](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Merpeople)   
> [Desert Island](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Stranded_on_a_Desert_Island)  
> In this case, Sherlock.  
> No particular warnings.

John watched the sun set. Scratched a new scar in the rocks. Six months since he'd been marooned by the storm.

He could stay up on the cliffs. He had shelter. Water. Food. The focus of his every day. But food and shelter wasn't everything.

He headed down to the beach.

Black waves rolled in with pale starlit foam.

"John," called the man swimming in the waves. Pale translucent fins glowing with their own light. "It's dangerous in the sea. Full of mystery."

"Yeah, tell me something I don't know." John grinned at the waves. Used his flint and sparked himself a nice little fire from grass and sea sanded wood. Waited. Sherlock came closer. Fascinated by the fire as always.

He was carrying something. Never something to eat, despite John's suggestions.

He dropped it on the sand. Under the barnacles, it was a sword with Viking looking runes carved into the bone hilt. Sherlock's glowing fins fanned in the receding waves. "What is it?"

"A weapon."

"Show me!"

John hefted it with both hands. Swung it. Toppled into Sherlock's long twisting tail with a laugh.

Sherlock pretended to grumble, but John knew what those fin strokes meant.

John lay back in his lover's arms and considered this was not what he'd expected when he put a message in a bottle.


	81. In the Kelp Canyon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The tide was coming in. John and Sherlock had places to swim.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trope: Not human. In this case, everyone is fish. Yes, I did go to the Monterey Bay Aquarium and looked at fish. [Anthropomorphic](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Anthropomorfic)
> 
> Warnings: Not particularly.

The tide was coming in. The anemones opened hungry petals. Barnacles snatched at laden water with feathery legs. Catching as many plastic mermaid's tears, garbage ground up by the ocean, as food.

Sherlock deftly swayed with the push and pull of the water.

Near the surface of the kelp canyon, Irene slowly summersaulted. Long tendrils drifting in the current. "Come closer, Sherlock. Let's do dinner."

Sherlock was curious. Her jelly body flickering lights and floating lace. He wanted to understand the composition of her poison.

"Sherlock!" John ground and clicked his teeth in a growl. "I swear, if you go any closer, I'll let her sting you this time."

He didn't mean it. John was a Garibaldi and very territorial.

Jim languidly poked his nose out of his crevice in the rocks. Moray eel grinned. Sebastian delicately worked at cleaning Jim's gap mouth and scales with delicate crab claws.

Sherlock flashed brilliant colors at Jim to let him know this cuttlefish meant business.

Jim laughed.

Mycroft lumbered by Seabass slow and twice as boring. Followed by a school of bright silver fish.

The tide was coming in.  

As they reached their home, Mrs. Hudson scuttled out. Her tiny claws clacking at the mess Sherlock had made. They arranged shells for her. It was much better than a day at the beach.


	82. In R'lyeh Dread Cthulu Lies Dreaming - or Cats are Insane!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When Sherlock said it was dangerous, John thought they were going to the dream lands. He liked the dream lands. A good place to run and chase his tail. Let Sherlock groom him. But R'lyeh! 
> 
> John reminded himself that cats could afford to look dread horrors in the eye. They had no sanity to lose.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trope: Lovecraftian horror and everyone is an animal. Sherlock is a cat. John a dog.  
> Warnings: Indescribable horror so pure that it won't be described.

"Cats are insane." John walked stiff legged along the non-Euclidean arch over the stygian gulf. Despite being a terrier bull dog mix, he did not wag his tail. He did not. There were things in the abyss looking at them and he didn't like it. Not one bit.

Sherlock yawned sharp white teeth. Licked an already white paw. Groomed his black coat. Drawled, "When I said dangerous, you came."

"I thought," John resisted the desire to look down or up or around, "we were going to the dream lands." Unlike Sherlock, John couldn't afford to look eldritch horrors in the eye.

Naturally, Sherlock thought this was the time to groom John.

John suffered it. Normally, he would have enjoyed it, but to repeat, eldritch horrors were watching.

Finally, they continued on their way through the indescribably carved buildings of namable R'lyeh.

"Why are exactly are we here," asked John. Again.

Sherlock made a question of his tail. Again.

John peed on a temple of Azathoth and a palladium of Nyarlathotep. 

Sherlock surreptitiously scratched a column proclaiming the glories of Cthulhu.

They slipped into the chamber where dread Cthulhu lay dreaming.

Sherlock said, "Lazy lump," stole a squamous sigil, moaned about cultists and let them leave.

In the dream lands, they settled on an effulgent cloud and shared some calamari and bouillabaisse.


	83. I Prefer to Text

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock – This is asinine. SH.  
> John – Sittin nxt 2 u  
> Sherlock – Yet, you texted back. Also, I note did not disagree. SH.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trope: [Epistolary](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Epistolary_Fic), err... textalary.  
> Warnings: Implied headlocks and m/m activity. Also, the easiest B word to come up with so far.

Sherlock – This is asinine. SH.

John – Sittin nxt 2 u

Sherlock – Yet, you texted back. Also, I note did not disagree. SH.

John – Great movie. 4 ages

Sherlock – The villainess had a pelvis gun, the hero escaped a robotic shark by surfing on a tsunami while wearing a tuxedo! SH.

John – 4 ages

Sherlock - John, bring me tea. SH.

John – U do it

Sherlock – Tea, I need tea. SH.

John – Satisfied? Watch movie

Sherlock – While your tea is excellent, it is not enough to fend off my overwhelming sense of ennui brought on by this movie. SH.

John – N 4 Neville. Died ennui.

Sherlock – Who is Neville? Since it's impossible to die of ennui, I must assume Neville was murdered. Was it interesting?

Sherlock –  Fine, laugh at the man whose brain is expiring. Nothing is interesting. SH.

John – Don't poke!

Sherlock – Violence is the resort of small minds. SH.

John – Not 1 in headlok

Sherlock – John, my head hurts and you call yourself a doctor. SH.

John – Fine! Lie down

Sherlock – This movie is much better when seen sideways. Please increase pressure when stroking my parietal bone. It stimulates thought. SH.

John – Stimulates my boner.

John – !334aaaaaaaaaaa

John – Cggggggggggg######@@@

John - @@@@@@@@@@@

Sherlock – You were correct. That was stimulating. SH.

John - (¬‿¬)

Sherlock – John!

Sherlock - bbbbbbbbbbbbbb


	84. The Band Played Hallelujah

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John played piano. Sherlock played violin. The crowd sang along, as they made the on-coming storm their light show.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trope: Characters are in a band.  
> Warnings: People get rained on. Will no one consider the piano!

John played piano. A rolling line of melody. Sherlock tapped the beating heart of the song on the box of his carbon fiber violin. When he wasn't playing the Italian wood. The French electric. Plucking the strings of John's piano as if it were John's heart.

The audience filled the seats in the small outdoor stadium. The east wind shook the pine trees. In the distance there was lightning cracking nearby mountains. An immense lightshow that couldn't be staged. They could have cancelled. They made the on-coming storm part of the concert.

The crowd clapped along with  _Virgil's Jump_. They sang along. Their voices a low hum under Sherlock's as violin looped. John's fingers danced over the keys. Played as if ivory was skin. This was their love song. Sherlock's declaration. The chorus, John's response.

Got the crowd dancing with _Reichenbach Fall_ , which wasn't John's favorite. It reminded him of the two years they'd spent apart. Band broken. Chords all but silent. But their story wasn't complete without the hiatus.

Surged up into _My Amazed Grace_. Brought out the bagpipers. An encore that made the sky break down and cry.

Ran inside while the roadies got the equipment.

Sherlock ran a thumb over John's cheek. Wiped away rain. Hummed into each other's mouths the melody of their final song. _Ninth Beatitude_.


	85. Music and Lyrics and Murder

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John could write a melody, but was bollocks at lyrics.
> 
> Then came a posh bloke to his door to water his plants.
> 
> No, seriously, he was there to water the plants. Or was he?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trope: John is a musician. 
> 
> Takes the line love autopsy from the movie, "Music and Lyrics".
> 
> Warning: No plants were murdered in this story. Sadly, Sholto was and John's not as sad as he might be if Sholto hadn't broken up their band.

Monster Box had been big once. Sholto went solo. Box broke up.

These days, John was singing at Funland. He and the fans were all a bit more wrinkled. Just happy to see each other.

Even that was fading. Newer old acts.

But _the Irene_ wanted him to write a song for her. Problem was John was bollocks at lyrics. His manager Mike found him a young hotshot. Hot shite more like.

Glad for a distraction when the doorbell rang. There was this incredibly posh bloke. "I'm Sherlock. I'm your micro gardener's replacement." John forced himself to focus on hot mess lyrics.

"Stop torturing the melodic line with pretentious tripe," said Sherlock. "May as well rhyme me with love autopsy."

"That's actually pretty good," said John.

He looked at Hotshot, who sniffed and huffed off.

"So…" said John.

"You're not the murderer," said Sherlock.

"What?"

"Sholto was stabbed last night with a needle through his trousers. But it wasn't you."

"Uh," said John. "He did always wear very tight trousers." They laughed. Shared a look. Melted the artic with it.

"Help me catch his murder."

John licked his lips. "Help me finish my song."

They caught the murder. Wrote a song. Found they were the perfect combination of music and lyrics. A partnership that was no reason to sing the blues.


	86. Meet Me in the Mosh Pit

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rolling Stone called Sherlock's last album the suicide anthem of the age. John knew they'd been 180 degrees wrong.
> 
> Sherlock played as angry as John felt.
> 
> Even if going to the concert made him feel a million years old, brown in a sea of Goth, he had to go.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trope: Sherlock's in a band.  
> Warnings: Ends before much happens. 
> 
> Credit for the line at the beginning must go to the unknown girl dressed all in black at a Depeche Mode concert years ago. Writers, we're magpies.

A girl passed talking on her mobile. "I'm totally Goth. You can't miss me." John about choked. The stadium was a sea of Goth.

His minder, Mike had scored him last minute tickets. John was the outlier in brown. Crowd half his age.

 _Rolling Stone_  called Sherlock's last album the suicide anthem of the age. John knew they'd been 180 degrees wrong.

Sherlock came on in skin tight black. Put his bow to his electric violin. Played angry. John jumped into the mosh pit. Let Sherlock carry him.

Half a dozen songs of anger.

Looked up. Met Sherlock's eyes. Jolted.

The music changed. Yearning. _Depression Era_  from Sherlock's first album before he got big. The kids around John were murmuring.

Felt like the rest of the concert was just for John. Ending with something new that sounded like John felt.

John lingered as the crowd left. A roadie came up. "Man wants to meet you."

Feeling like Alice, John followed backstage where Sherlock stubbed out a clove cigarette. This close, his gaze was electric. Sherlock said, "Murder or suicide?"

"Murder," wasn't the smart answer. True. Just not smart.

Found himself crowded into a wall like some teen groupie. Sweat and chipped black nails scraping skin. John gasped. "What do you call the last song?"

Sherlock's teeth grazed John's neck. "Murderer's Benediction."


	87. Married for the Work

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John and Sherlock must pretend to be married for a case.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trope: Pretend to be married.  
> Warnings: Contains language.

It was precisely the way John had always imagined getting married. His best mate shoving a ring on his finger and explaining their backgrounds for the case.

Boiled down to Sherlock was Dave Wiloby, a biotech researcher with intimacy issues. John was John Wat, a doctor with trust issues. They were booked at the Shadowbrook Inn for a weekend to turn off their mobiles, spice up their relationship, and snoop the fuck around.

John could have recited it to Sherlock. This wasn't their first fake marriage.

Had a tiff over breakfast. Sherlock confided in the maids who confided back. Determined that Mr. Carlton's alibi had leaks.

What John wasn't braced for was some homophobic wanker giving them agro about queers in the bar. John sat there trying to decide if Sherlock would lose it if John broke character when the wanker swung at Sherlock, who was playing as nebbish a neb as ever nebbed and therefore didn't duck.

John may have lost the thread. Wanker went home unconscious in a cab. They were comped on their room.

John fussed over Sherlock's cut lip. Git kept chortling about the whole thing. "The look on your face when he hit me." He paused. "The look on your face."

What followed involved language and adult themes. It was more than a little hard boiled.


	88. Trust Issues

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock will lose his trust if he's not married by 35!
> 
> John can help with that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trope: Marriage of Convenience.  
> Warnings: Contains pining like a pine forest.

John waited for his best friend to stop pacing.

Sherlock said, "We should get married."

John pursed his lips. He could have sworn Sherlock had just proposed.

"It's my trust. I must marry before my 35th birthday or I'll be cut off. Thus," he waved at John. "However, there is no provision against divorce. A year of your time at most."

"Ah," said John, who told his stupid heart to stop being stupid. "Ok."

Pop into the registrars. Done.

John wasn't prepared to find all his belongings moved into Sherlock's room. "We have to convince the lawyers." Which was fine. For a masochist.

Sherlock announced, "The lawyers want an interview."

"No problem."

"But you're a terrible liar."

John tightly smiled. "Not a problem."

Smarmy bastard sitting in their living room. John said, "I knew the moment I met him. Gorgeous bloke knew everything about me with one look." Squeezed Sherlock's hand. "Took Mr. Delete the Solar System a little longer."

"The Solar System is relevant," huffed Sherlock.

Lawyer closed his binder. "I'm convinced."

Sherlock stared at the door as it closed. Looked at John. "You're a terrible liar."

"So, you've said."

Sherlock's moved closer. "I'll be using the bed tonight." Too close. "Neither of us will be sleeping."

Turned out, Sherlock knew all about the bang with which the universe began.


	89. A Prince of Mars

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John's been kidnapped seven times since he came of age. He needs to get married so Sherlock doesn't have to keep rescuing him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trope: Marriage of Convenience.  
> Based on the Edgar Rice Burrough's Martian-Barsomian books.  
> Warnings: I regret the format didn't provide time for multiple kidnappings, Damselfication, possibly Jim as one of the spider headed people from Chessmen of Mars... actually, come to think of it I sort of wrote that story.

"Sherlock!" John blurted. "I think we should get married."

Sherlock stopped. All four arms frozen. One green hand still gripped around his left tusk. Inside his Mind Palace, he held a parade. Exploded fireworks over the glorious city of the Tharks of old. Realized he'd yet to say yes, and was forced to replay John's following words.

"It's just, I've been kidnapped seven times since I came of age." John ruefully tapped the leather and metal of a prince of Helium. "If I was married," he shrugged.

Sherlock glared at John. Cancelled the fireworks. Sent the parade back to its billet in disgrace.

"I mean, you have better things to do than continually rescue me. Jeddack of the Tharks, science experiments and I know you don't care about um…"

Sherlock said, "I've discovered many breakthroughs on our adventures. The ninth ray."

"Yeah, so," John swallowed, "did you say yes in your head?"

Sherlock had to say, "Yes."

The wedding could have been tasteful, but Mycroft got involved.

John wore white leathers and small metal chains. Sherlock didn't stare as he came in. They plighted their troth beneath the lover moons.

Kissed.

John whispered, "Guess I'm safe from being kidnapped."

Sherlock considered. Analyzed the kiss. Held the parade. "Not entirely." Kidnapped his prince for an adventure beneath the lover moons of Barsoom.


	90. Into the Woods

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prince Sherlock had no desire to marry. Clearly, this called for a trip to the woods.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trope: Forced to Betroth, because Marry starts with an M.  
> Warnings: A rabbit dies. Then is lunch. Surprisingly, Sherlock eats.

Prince Sherlock of Umbria did the only rational thing when informed that the peace treaty must be secured by his marriage to Prince John of Northumbria.

He put on his meanest robes and went into the woods to gather Desire's Death roots.

He was explaining his situation to a rabbit when a Northumbrian, who clearly did not understand that these were the king's woods, fired an arrow at his woodland friend.

Well, friend. Acquaintance.

"That was an excellent shot, but these are the king's woods."

"Then let's not tell him." The Northumbrian glared at the dead rabbit. The woods. Shook his head. Skinned the rabbit. Built a fire and was soon offering an astonished Sherlock lunch.

Even more astonishing, Sherlock found himself eating it.

The Northumbrian said, "I'm errr… Hamish."

Sherlock considered the dozen names in his full name and picked none of them. "I'm Shezza. A simple herbalist."

Hamish waved a rabbit thigh. "I'm a complicated poacher."

They ate. Walked. Battled a wyvern. Laughed. Kissed. Did considerably more than kiss. Promised to meet the next day.

Sherlock needed to break his engagement. He burst in on the Northumbrian delegation, where Hamish, Prince John, was arguing that he'd fallen in love and couldn't marry Prince Sherlock.

Sherlock introduced himself again.

At dinner, they announced they were perfectly fine with the betrothal.


	91. In for a Barrow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John asks Sherlock to pretend to be his boyfriend so his ex doesn't think he's pining.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trope: [Pretend to be a couple.](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Pretend_Couple) Teenlock.  
> Warning: Sherlock utters the words OMG and it's a crime.

"Quick, pretend to be my boyfriend."

Sherlock stopped correcting the errors in John's Maths homework with commentary. His eyes flicked to the girl bouncing into the coffee shop. The one with the freckles. Who'd dumped John on Valentine's for a college boy with a car.

She was wearing the new perfume of desperation, garish nail polish, and a pushup bra. Recently dumped herself. Hadn't spotted John yet.

"Please! I don't want her to think I still care." John was giving him a look crafted to induce Sherlock to agree to anything. "That I'm,"

Sherlock captured whatever John was going to say with a kiss. Just soft lips cupping John's. Captured. Released. Recaptured. Pulled back. Did not release John's hand. Slid his chair closer. A paper couldn't be slid between them.

"John," said Freckles. "OMG, it's so good to see you." She flounced closer as if to take the third chair.

Sherlock said, "OMG! I've been wanting to thank you." He raised John's hand to his lips. "If you hadn't had such appalling manners, we wouldn't have gotten together." He gazed into John's eyes. "Spent Valentines coupling sky clad in a barrow."

Freckles flounced off. They burst out laughing. Sherlock prepared to let go.

John held on. Licked his lips. "So, ummm..."

Sherlock was right. Their first time was in a barrow.


	92. Good Boy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John wasn't sure what case Sherlock was on about, but he put on the leather trousers and prepared to be part of a couple at a BDSM club.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trope: [Pretend to be a couple.](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Pretend_Couple) BDSM. Praise kink  
> Warning: M/M sexual content. Hand job.

John wasn't sure what case Sherlock was on about, but he put on the leather trousers and prepared to be part of a couple at a BDSM club.

Sherlock tugged John in the direction of a wheel thing. "Don't just stand there." He slipped into the restraints. John half-hearted flicked Sherlock with a flail. Rambled bad boy sort of garbage while Sherlock observed.

It felt off.  

Then he spotted a fur lined glove on the toy table.

As at a distance, put it on.

Found himself saying, "You're amazing." Slid the glove down Sherlock's back. "The way you see things." Softly. Gently. "Brilliant. But," a stroke, "you need to take better care of yourself."

Hoped the grapes on the table weren't poison. "Be a good boy and eat this." Sherlock opened his lips. Wet and warm around John's fingers. Sucking. A flick of his tongue.

Which was when John knew.

"There's no case."

A quiet, "No."

"Good boy." Sherlock leaned into his hand.

They were in a crowd. Just the two of them.

Flicked open Sherlock's trousers. A gasp with every strained pop. Wrapped his good boy in silk. Kept up the praise and chides. "Such a good boy."

Sherlock came. Relaxing boneless into John's hands.

Sounds around them. None of that mattered. John met Sherlock's eyes. "There's my good boy."


	93. Slow Night at the Castellan

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes John just needed to quiet his mind. Hand over control.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trope: BSDM Club. Run into each other by accident.  
> Warnings: Stops before it begins.

Sometimes John just needed to quiet his mind. Hand over. Turn off.

It was fine when he and Sherlock were on a case. Sherlock led the charge. John was happy to play the idiot. Reflect the light.

But when the emails were all a one. When all his work was coughs at clinics, John needed an outlet.

He'd tried to talk about it once with Sherlock. Who'd blinked. Shut him down. Then came the exploding pineapples.

Had to figure Sherlock knew anyway.

Weeks since they'd a case on.

John got dressed. Went to "The Castellan". Not much on the outside. Inside, the play spaces were all set. Leather, chains, Catherine wheel. Regulars nodded at John.

He made the rounds to see who'd come to play.

He tried worshiping a goddess, but she had an early meeting.

Had a diet coke. Chatted about new Who with a couple of other subs. Not what he needed.

Sherlock walked in neck to ankle leather.

It had to be for a case.

Had to be.

Sherlock stopped. Stared. John raised his chin. Sherlock prowled over. "You were attempting to speak about yourself."

John nodded. A leather gloved finger to his jaw. "Your safe word is Sistine, the opposite of Vatican Cameos."

John's voice was sandpaper. Swallowed to wet it. "Yeah."

Which was only the beginning.


	94. All Tied Up

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock had to appreciate a good flogging.
> 
> Mainly, because Captain Watson had him fairly securely tied.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trope: BDSM. Also, Canadian.  
> Warning: Well, it's BSDM.

Sherlock had to appreciate a good flogging.

Had to because Captain Watson had securely bound his hands and wrists when he'd suspended him. The leather a reminder not to move. Sherlock voluptuously stretched. Tugging the ribbons connected to his nipple clamps. A simple slap. A reminder who was in charge.

Sherlock had completely given up control. Control was a single word. He would never need to say it.

"You're not paying attention?" The fine knots in the flogger burned as they hit his back. Sherlock's eyes fluttered. He sank into peace. "Almost there."

He'd spent months searching for Captain Watson. So many failed attempts. The dinosaur fetishist. The hand fetishist. The… deleted. Become a consultant quite by accident through the vagaries of ex-patriotism and the incompetence of the Calgary police. Captain Watson somewhat excepted.

Captain Watson twisted his fingers in Sherlock's hair. Pulling. "You were reckless. Almost contaminated the chain of custody." Sherlock's body bowed. "Let a guilty man walk free."

"Sorry." It felt distant to say it. Nothing to the immediacy of the burn. The tug in his hair. The safety of being completely restrained and contained by this man.

"Sorry is not good enough." Captain Watson turned the harness ropes. "I need to hear you understand."

"I understand." Sherlock hung boneless. Suspended by another's will. "I'm yours to bruise."


	95. We Are the Champions of the World

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John shoots for the UK in the Olympics. Sherlock fences. Will Sherlock's devotion to the art of fencing leave space for something more.
> 
> Hint this is only 221 words long, so... yes, it will.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trope: They're Olympic athletes.  
> Warnings: Complaints about a perfectly nice set of UK uniforms. Let's just pretend that they looked like one of the worst outfits. I almost made them atheletes for Sweden.   
> http://www.dailymail.co.uk/news/article-3726589/Best-worst-outfits-Rio-Olympics-opening-ceremony.html  
> Misuse of fencing term.

Someone had gone flag happy on the UK Olympic uniforms thought John as he entered the stadium.

"Rifle or pistol?" drawled the only other Olympian from the UK not actively pointing their mobile at the crowd.

"Pardon," said John, trying to remember the bloke's name. One of fencers. Certainly had a fencer's tight arse.

"You were considering the public service of shooting the person who designed our uniforms."

"Oi, Sherlock," said Sally, one of the swimmers, "only you would joke about murder at an event to promote peace."

John smiled. Nodded. Knowing a thousand cameras were on them right now. Waved his flag. "Pistol. So I could look them in the eyes."

Shared a laugh. Presented their symbolic seed to be planted. Joined the milling crowd. Established that Sherlock was unattached like John and married to the art of fencing.

John considered chatting up one of the Canadians.

Thing about the Olympics was it was full of young, fit people ready to enjoy life. John was older than most, but there was an advantage there too. Not his first Olympics.  

John shrugged. "It's all fine." Took Sherlock with him to the firing range. Put his hands on Sherlock's hips. Adjusted Sherlock's stance.

Sherlock glanced back. "About my art… I may have time for a… bout."

John particularly enjoyed Sherlock's balestra.


	96. The Most Ridiculous Thing He'd Ever Done

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock was told his contact would respond to a certain code phrase.
> 
> Sadly, a fairly well known code phrase.
> 
> Or not sadly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trope: Sherlock's a [spy.](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Spies)  
> Idea came from a Tumblr post which supposed what if a random person answered a spy code phrase correctly because pop culture for the win. Supposing Sherlock was told to meet a doctor working for the government and got... not Mike Stamford, well there you go.  
> Warnings: Sadly, not even first base.

John nursed his pint.

"The Doctor is in the Tardis."

John had to admit that was a new pickup line. Turned. Maintained suavity when he saw the gorgeous posh bloke chatting him up.

Couldn't resist. "Well it is bigger on the inside."

"M's taste is improving." Bloke bent forward. Breathed in his ear, "For the Fat Man." And ducked out the backdoor. A small package had been placed in John's pocket.

Weird. Strange.

Mike huffed in. Was typically mysterious about what he'd been up to. Was distracted the whole time.

John was distracted too. He couldn't help thinking about the posh bloke.

Whistled as he headed out. Since the package had an address on it, he dropped it off at the post.

Was kidnapped a block from his flat and taken to an empty warehouse where a woman pointed a giant bow and arrow at him. John said, "Laser in the shop is it?"

"Don't play coy with me, Agent Eros. We know the Consultant handed you the package."

Just then, posh bloke ran in. Exchanged gunfire. John managed not to get shot and even tripped someone.

Posh bloke untied John and said, "It's too late to worry about the plans. The Varangian has finished the battlestar."

John followed as posh bloke left. He'd always wanted to see an operational battlestar.


	97. The Doctor and Mr. Holmes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock was taking Mummy to the train when a mysterious man handed him a package.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trope: John's a [spy.](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Spies) Fusion with Scarecrow and Mrs. King.  
> Warning: A really convoluted way to make a sexual innuendo with the last word ending in b.

Mummy insisted that Sherlock accompany her to Paddington. He took his revenge by wearing jim jams, which in fairness had been his attire all week.

"Oh, Sherlock," she pushed back his curls, "you simply have to get over Victor."

Sherlock huffed. He wasn't wearing jim jams in a train station because of Victor. It was comfortable. Supported brainwork.

She sighed and got on her train. Sherlock headed across the station.

A man, blond, handsome, wearing a white waiter's uniform, but was certainly not a waiter, grabbed his wrist. "I'm being followed. I need you to give this to the man wearing a red hat on the train to Cardiff."

The man darted off leaving Sherlock holding a package. The Cardiff bound train was full of men and women wearing fez.

Sherlock had no intention of going to Cardiff. He got off.

Considered giving the package to Mycroft, but where was the fun in that. Removed the microfiche from the package (really, what was this the 1980s?). Went to his Harrod's bolt-hole. Picked up a new suit, had it tailored and examined the microfiche.

Which led to encountering not-Waiter in Big Ben where a terrorist had planted a dirty bomb. It was thrilling.

After, not-Waiter said, "Did you hand over the package?"

Sherlock showed his package to the not-Waiter in his bolt-hole.


	98. The Men (and Woman) from UNCLE

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The thief, the spy and the mechanic. Sherlock, John, and Mary may not have shared everything up front.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tropes: Everyone's a [spy.](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Spies)  
> Warnings: Everyone dressed fabulously and you can't even see them.

Sherlock looked at the dress John was holding. "A woman in that level of society would never dress like a Russian grandmother." He held up his own offering. "This is more appropriate."

John rolled his eyes. "There's no place to hide a gun."

"Boys," Mary sauntered out of the changing room in her own selection, a yellow Marianne Faithful Mini dress with matching cape. "If you're done discussing fashion, can we infiltrate the Contessa's party?"

They were done and they did. The thief, the spy and the mechanic.

Though, as it happened when Mary had said she was a mechanic, she meant in wet works. As she betrayed them to the Contessa, Mary said, "I warned you both that you wouldn't like me if you got to know me."

Though when Sherlock had called himself a genius thief, he had actually been downplaying his gifts.

Though John had more than a few trust issues, and thus all the weapons in strange places.

An escape, gunfight, three boat chases later Sherlock and John were on an Aegean island where a stolen nuclear missile was sitting in the ruins of medieval castle. Where as it happened, Mary was actually a Mossad agent hunting Nazis. She shot the Contessa with a smile.

Since they were looking fabulous, they struck a pose on the battlements.


	99. Less than the Great

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock was adopted. That's why he was smaller than the Great Apes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trope: Fusion. In this case with ERB's Tarzan of the Apes and a bit of Skull Island/King Kong. Sherlock's Tarzan here, who in the books teaches himself to read and write, and is constantly learning languages. So... there you go.  
> Warnings: Skull Island is a horrible place. Nothing horrible happens.

Sherlock was adopted. That's why he was smaller than the Great Apes.

Kala would point to the cabin. "I heard you screaming." She gently stroked his hair with a pinkie. "Found my special little ape."

Hard to believe Kala when Sherlock was so much less. His adoptive brother, Mycroft was the lead silverback. Sherlock had trouble fighting (even) the giant moths.

Sherlock didn't even share genetic memories. He'd had to teach himself to read and write from the books in his parent's cabin to learn anything (frustrating fragments) about his parents.  

He did is best to obverse.

When he heard strange popping from the Lacertilian village, he investigated.

Saw the scaly Lacertilians surrounding… a human.

Seen only in books.

Fractured reflections.

The Lacertilian were closing in.

Sherlock carried the man to dubious safety.

Sherlock tried to explain who he was in each of the eight languages of Skull Island. Could only exchange names by pointing.

He felt the frustration of (again) not being quite enough. As John wrapped his legs around Sherlock's body (a mating ritual?), he couldn't only hope for the time to do better.

He set John down in the cabin. Wrote a brief explanation in English, French and Latin. Hoped.

John wrote back in English, "You're amazing."

Seeing the way John looked at him, Sherlock began to believe.


	100. Like a Grecian God

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John didn't expect to live through Skull Island. He didn't expect a very fit naked man to rescue him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trope: Fusion. ERB's Tarzan and King Kong. John is kinda Jane here.  
> Warnings: Well, lizard people.

John joined the expedition to Isla de las Calaveras as the crew's doctor without hesitation. Knew he might die. Hardly cared. Since the wars, the world seemed colorless. Dull.

Seemed par for the course that the steam ship chugged into a bay below a towering skull shaped mountain.

Everything went wrong from the moment they set ashore. John's medical skills weren't much use against the horrors that time forgot. Giant insects. Reptiles.

Lizard people.

John emptied his clip. Prepared to go down fighting.

He was swept up by a raven haired Grecian god. Muscles on naked muscles. He babbled at John.

John said, "I can just about swear in French." Then, as the reasonable thing to do, John wrapped his legs around the bloke. That freed enough of a hand for the fellow to tap his very muscular chest. He said, "Sherlock."

Possibly a name. "John."

Sherlock swung them through the trees like taking a walk. John couldn't stop exclaiming how amazing it was. Tried to suppress reactions as bodies rubbed.

They arrived at a cabin in a tree. Sherlock wrote the most fantastic story on a sheet of hand pulped paper in maybe Latin and French, thankfully English.

John wrote, "You're amazing."

Didn't write that for the first time in forever, John could believe in a world held something beautiful.


	101. Tales of the Single Gold Monkey seeking Tiger Boy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> No one else could have correctly deduced the island location of the Temple of the Gold Monkey.   
> A fact Sherlock reminded Heir Magnussen of as his men tied Sherlock to a stake.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trope: Fusion, character was raised by wild animals. In this case, John. While Sherlock is the deductive genius capable of discovering the temple of the gold monkey. You know, for the people old enough to remember the show. Except, no tiger boy.

No one else could have correctly deduced the island location of the Temple of the Gold Monkey.

A fact Sherlock reminded Heir Magnussen of as his men tied Sherlock to a stake.

"Which," said the cool eyed businessman, "is precisely why you have to die."

Sherlock was still mimicking the man hours later.

There was a growl from the jungle.

A tiger, with one missing eye, prowled out of the trees. Sherlock braced, when a naked man jumped out of a tree waving, if Sherlock wasn't mistaken, which of course he wasn't, Yu Chang, the legendary sword of bravery.

The tiger snarled and walked away.

Sherlock told the man, "You're very naked," and cursed himself for stating the obvious.

"Me, John," said the man, cutting Sherlock's bindings.

Sherlock quickly deduced that correcting the man's grammar would only result in a comedic radio play. "Sherlock." He looked at the heated distance between their bodies. "I'm married to my work."

John refused to stop exuding animal magnetism.

"Very married."

Very naked.

Sherlock gave in.

They were kissing when an unholy scream came from inside the temple.

Sherlock called up to the opening. "That is precisely why you should have waited for me to show you the traps."

Was catching his breath from sheathing John's sword, before wondering where John'd gotten the sword of bravery.


	102. Like Night Blooming Blossoms

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John was raised by Black Paw, but John was not a tiger.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trope: Fusion. Character raised by animals.   
> Warnings: Evil people fail to ask for advice and die off screen. RtFM!

John was raised by Black Paw, but John was not a tiger.

John knew that. Just as he knew his name was John. It was his last memory of his mother. Her calling his name before the fever took her. Leaving him wailing beside her.

Black Paw said, "I considered eating you, but you growled at me with such a fierce heart that I knew even if you had the body of a human, you had a tiger's soul."

So, John had grown up with Black Paw's cub, Harry Eye, who was born missing one eye.

Now when a tiger was grown, they were expected to take their own territory. But Harry came with him. She had trouble hunting.

He took the territory around Man's Temple. He'd always loved the temple. Crawling through its many tunnels. Looking at the carvings. It was where he found his favorite long tooth. He fought many battles with it.

Not that it was a battle to chase off Harry when she threatened the man with skin like night blooming blossoms.

He untied the man, Sherlock, who spoke very fast. John had trouble following him. But as Sherlock pressed lips to lips, John understood.

Someone screamed inside the temple. John did not care. Nothing was as important as parched skin brushing across skin like night blossoms.


	103. The Corner Shop

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Corner Shop was nothing on Tescos, but it got by. Hadn't been John's plan. Hadn't been his plan to get shot. All fine.
> 
> The hot sargasmic guy came in on Tuesdays after 11.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trope: The corner shop.  
> Warnings: For John BAMFery.

The Corner Shop was nothing on Tescos, but it got by. Hadn't been John's plan. Hadn't been his plan to get shot. All fine.

11pm Tuesday, John primped in the loo. Hot Sargasmic Guy (HSG) took advantage of The Corner Shop's hours about then.  

Billy laughed, "Ask him out."

John didn't repeat that he'd chatted up HSG the first time he came in and was shot down.

HSG swept in on time. Picked up his prodigious milk order. John shooed off Billy. Rang HSG up.

The door jingled. A strung out college kid (SOCK) came in.

HSG said in his pure sex voice, "He's working up the courage to rob you."

John said, "Figured."

SOCK held up a trembling knife. "Give me the cash."

"You're too far away to reach him." HSG drawled.

"Can get to you." SOCK waved his knife.

"You're holding it wrong. You kipped on the floor. Have weak knees, you're…"

SOCK lunged.

John hit SOCK on the wrist with his cane. SOCK dropped his knife. John swept his legs out from under him.

"That," HSG leaned forward.

"Was nothing. Just a service we provide at The Corner Shop." John dialed 999.

HSG gave John a beautiful eye fuck. "Does your shop also make deliveries?"

Later, John followed HSG home with more than just milk in the bag.


	104. The Emporium

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Emporium was in a warehouse at the end of a series of alleys. It was designed to be avoided by anyone who didn't absolutely need a snack or clove cigarettes to be smoked outside of one of the clubs in the pouring rain.
> 
> Sherlock did not encourage foodies.
> 
> There was one customer he encouraged.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trope: The Shop around the corner.  
> Warnings: Prelude to a kiss.

The Emporium was in a warehouse at the end of a series of alleys. It was designed to be avoided by anyone who didn't absolutely need a snack or clove cigarettes to be smoked outside of one of the clubs in the pouring rain.

Sherlock also sold very specifically selected teas wrapped in banana leaves. Cocoa from remote farms in small wool packets. Select things.

He'd planned on becoming a pirate. Smuggling was his bow fingers to the all-seeing CCTV.

He kept irregular hours to fight the foodies.

Each Friday night, John, the metal sculptor who lived a warehouse down, purchased tea.

Sherlock did not primp in front of the mirror. He did not wear his tightest shirts. He did not brush fingers over the back of John's hand. He did tell John his therapist was a moron for suggesting pottery to combat PTSD.

They were talking when the foodies arrived. Sherlock didn't know how they knew he'd be open. He grudgingly allowed some purchases.

Left with John to avoid them.

John cleared his throat as he opened his door. There was a bust of Sherlock, exploding with images and words. The visual of how Sherlock felt.

John said, "So, um… yeah…"

Sherlock tapped a word. "This one means kissing. I'm in need of practice."

They practiced the art of basiation.


	105. Holmes and Watson - The Shops Around the Corner

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Holmes was a Victorian Department Store with spiraling wrought iron stair cases. Mysteries in silk and oak cupboards.
> 
> Watson was a brick apothecary tucked along Holmes' long edifice. Secrets in smoke.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trope: The Shop and Store that are on the same block.  
> Warning: Alas, no unmentionables.

Holmes was a Victorian Department Store with spiraling wrought iron stair cases. Wide open porticos. Tables for tea. Unmentionables behind discrete walls. A fountain with two male centaurs frolicking in the spray. Mysteries in silk and oak cupboards.

Watson was a brick apothecary tucked along Holmes' long edifice. Xie sold Indian tea, Chinese carvings from fishbone, and cures for certain unmentioned ailments. Secrets in smoke.

What couldn't be found at Holmes wasn't worth having. A trip to Watson would cure what you got after you had it.

No one knew how large Holmes was. How many rooms. What all was sold. Even how the place stayed open with such set prices. If they weren't waved altogether. Hoop skirts gave way to jazz fringe. Iron staircases rusted. Watson's façade slicked with winter mold.

Cold dust peasoupers receded to shine the sun down on soot frosted facades. Grimed windows and forgotten care.

Still, they were warm on a winter's day.

Doors never closed. They changed.

Surfaces were scrubbed. Painted. Holmes departments became shops. Selling all manner of mysterious goods. Watson sold fruit with the tea, milk with the spices.

If you wanted to forget, you went to Watson's for brandy or beer. If you wanted to find out the truth, you went to Holmes and waited, because eventually everyone in London came by.


	106. 28 Days Later

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John was shot in Afghanistan. Woke up in an abandoned hospital in England. Oh, and zombies.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trope: End of the World. [Zombies.](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Zombie)  
> Warnings: It's the end of the world, and there's at least one zombie. John Watson has an axe.

John was shot in Maiwand. Vaguely remembered the medivac.

Woke up in Barts. His wound at least a month healed.

He called for a nurse. No one came.

He pulled himself to his feet. Found overturned beds. Broken glass. Empty rooms. Something growling behind a chained door.

Right.

Took an axe from the fire cabinet. Foraged. Shoes. Clothes. Anti-biotics. Snack bar.

Was attacked by a madman, dead man, thing, on the 3rd floor. It only stopped when John split open its head.

Right.

The morgue was locked. Rapped a knock. A woman responded. "Are you infected?"

A man said, "Molly, he knocked in a pattern."

John said, "I'd like to know what's going on."

The door opened. He was pulled inside. Examined for bites by Molly, who'd worked in the morgue before the virus had turned people into…

"Zombies," added John helpfully.

"We're not calling them that," said Sherlock. Rambled a bit on why the virus did what it did.

"The morgue has a separate generator, plenty of frig space and really thick doors. We've been…" Molly looked at Sherlock. "It's been 28 days."

"Right," said John. Picking up his axe. "Do you think they can swim?"

Sherlock eyed him speculatively. "Improbable given their lack of coordination and perforations."

"Then genius, we're going to figure how to get to a boat."


	107. We're not Calling them Zombies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ironic that in rejecting a bunker, Sherlock had ended up locked in with Molly in the morgue. 
> 
> John's arrival was well timed. But they weren't calling them zombies.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trope: It's the end of the world, [zombies.](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Zombie) Sherlock's pov following on previous chapter.  
> Warnings: Horrible things are done to a zombie in a freezer.

When the virus hit, the speed with which London had transformed had been predicable, but appalling.

Certainly, Mycroft had predicted it. He'd wanted Sherlock to leave on the first airlift.

Ironic that in rejecting a bunker, Sherlock had ended up locked in with Molly in the morgue. Her crush had faded by day nine. Unfortunate. She would only let him keep one of the Reanimate chained in a freezer. Sherlock and Molly made a fair amount of progress studying the virus and the Reanimate. Nothing actionable. He snarled to think Mycroft must have made more progress.

They were running out of generator fuel.

John's arrival was well timed.

Three routes to the Thames.

Underground. Sherlock easily deduced thirty-six death traps.

Rooftop. Non-contiguous. Sherlock drew a detailed map.

"God! Sherlock!" said Molly.

"Fine," said John. "Not the roofs."

He and John went to the roof. Watched the dead. John said, "You'd think they'd attack each other."

Which was when Sherlock knew. He may have kissed John. Called John a genius. Himself an idiot for not considering the Reanimates' olfactory senses.

He huffed, "But I have been living in the morgue."

"Yeah," said John, kissing him back.

They carefully eviscerated the Reanimate in the fridge to spread over three people. Walked to the river. Headed to sea after liberating a boat at Blackfriars.


	108. Facts of Life

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The walking dead were simply a fact of life. John couldn't even imagine what it had been like before they arose.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trope: The world didn't end. A long time went by. But still [zombies.](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Zombie)  
> Warnings: Pride and Prejudice and Zombies is better than it has any right to be. Also, I threw in a dirigible, because there aren't enough dirigibles in zombie fic.

The walking dead were simply a fact of life.

John couldn't imagine life before. When a man could whistle without worrying. He'd been taught in school it was a consequence of Empire. Possibly the French. Either way, he'd trained in crossbow, rapier and medicine.

Joined the Northumberland Fusiliers. Left the coastal island where he'd grown up to fight in the Midlands. In London, that great cesspool through which all dead eventually shambled.

Forced to muster out after his injury at the battle of Blackpool.

He was shot by raiders from the Isle of Wight, whose sovereign Elizabeth claimed London. Though she'd no more right to it that King Aelfric of the Saxonlaw. 

John washed up in the walled city of York in no man's land. A city with no King or Queen. Simple laws. Punishments. To be put outside the wall while the bell tolled.

Found himself sharing the queerest lodging with the queerest cleverest man in York. Mrs. Hudson rented them moorings. Sherlock's dirigible, the Bee, tethered there with two billets and an experiments deck.

Sherlock played violin over the moors. Flew over abandoned towns. Studied the effects of reagents on the dead.

Breeze bobbed, John carded fingers through clever curls as black moods had Sherlock seeing the world as it could have been.

Soon, they only needed one billet.


	109. Rose and Bramble

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In a great city, two star crossed lovers were buried.
> 
> Not together. Pay attention. They were star crossed.
> 
> Very sad to be sure. This isn't their story.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trope: [Anthropomorphic](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Anthropomorfic)  
> Warning: Lovers die before the story begins, but as it says on the tin, not exactly their story. Inspired by the bagillion stories about the various plants growing on star crossed lovers graves.

In a great city, two star crossed lovers were buried.

Not together. Pay attention. They were star crossed.

One lover was murdered in the night. Buried in an unmarked grave outside the city. The other was buried with their murderous spouse in a mausoleum within the city walls.

Very sad to be sure. This isn't their story.

From the unmarked grave, there grew a bramble that bore strange black fruit.

There were several remarkable traits to that bramble. The greatest of which was anyone who ate its fruit observed and understood.

From behind the mausoleum, there grew a wild white rose. It spread down the wall.  

There were several remarkable traits to that rose bush. The greatest of which was that anyone who breathed its perfume gained the courage to act on their heart.

The rose and the bramble spread. Both surviving frost. Vicious pruning. Limbs burned. Still roots spread. Runners sprouted. Each sent furious prickled runners through spring and summer.

Eventually, the vines met. Clung one to the other. The rose with long black thorns. The bramble with fine prickly ones.

The least remarkable thing about the bramble was that its fruit grew all year where the rose twined.

The least remarkable thing about the rose was that its flowers where they twisted through the bramble were a brilliant blue.


	110. Where the Burlwood Grows

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Somewhere in the forest, a redwood grew. How a cacti grew on xiers branches, that's another story.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trope: [Anthropomorphic](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Anthropomorfic)  
> Warnings: Forest fires are real. Don't play with matches. It's up to you prevent forest fires.
> 
> Sadly, Sherlock isn't a [Sequoiadendron giganteum](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Sequoiadendron_giganteum), since unlike coastal redwood ([Sequoia sempervirens](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Sequoia_sempervirens))... well, read the story. But let's consider him and Mycroft a bit of both. Then again, I was actually in a coastal redwood forest while writing this.

Sherlock groaned, "The scrub can't see the forest for the trees."

From a farther ridge, Mycroft creaked, "Brother mine, we live in a world of scrub. I was a thousand years old before I realized that you weren't a pine."

Sherlock muttered, "You have squirrels."

Landmasses moved. The mountains pushed up an inch. Humans tramped through the woods. Built houses with porches and planters.

An eagle snatched up a pot containing a cactus named John. Dropped John on Sherlock.

John put down roots in a thousand years of pine needles. "Very nice. Very nice."

"Well, I could," Sherlock swayed. "It's…"

"Fantastic," said John. "You can see all the way to the city from here."

"Yes," Sherlock could hardly remember not seeing everything.

They lived agreeably together on their ridge.

Until the fire they called Jim. It had been a bad winter.

The driest in 1100 years.

The forest burned.

Sherlock held John up high. He could do no less. But when Jim was done, the heartwood had been burned out of Sherlock.

John tumbled. Grieved among the ash. A year. Two years. A long time for a cactus.

A dozen shoots sprouted from the blacked stump. "Hello, John."

John sputtered. "You wanker!"

"But John," said Sherlock curling a frond to lift John up, "I'm a Redwood. When we're burned, we bud."


	111. Burn, burn, burn

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John was a pile of wood.  
> Sherlock the blaze.  
> Together, there was a lot of heat and light.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trope: [Anthropomorphic](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Anthropomorfic)  
> Warnings: Fires burn.

John was a pile of wood.

It hadn't always been that way. Once xie'd been part of a tree. Xie'd been a manzanita with red curling branches. Xie'd been an oak that towered on the hill. There was even a bit of pine. Xie'd had a place on the shale that clung to the cliffs over the campsite. The place where people told stories.

But then came the winter that the forest called war. Colder than any winter in a decade. Winter shot frost bullets at trees.

John was nothing more than a pile of wood on the ground. Xie was contemplating a long slow decline into mulch when lightning happened.

Actually it was a camper gathering firewood despite the explicit signs that said not to gather wood for the health of the forest.

Also, a match.

John blazed into life in a metal drum with a rusting grill.

Sherlock flickered. Crackled pitch. They blazed.

Sherlock said, "You're not a source of light, because seriously that's me, but you are the fuel of fire."

John crackled happily.

They seared steak marinated in chipotle sauce. Grilled peppers. Solved a mystery by flickering light. Consumed marshmallows. Told a scary story or five.

As the embers died, Sherlock whispered, "See you in the next blaze."

John rolled over. "Until the next time we burn."


	112. Unknown Specimen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock's name meant gelatinous ooze in Cardassian.
> 
> Doctor Watson didn't really care.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trope: Trek [fusion](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Fusion). One of them's an alien.  
> Warnings: Ooze.

They found him floating in the Denorios Belt in a can. A highly advanced can, but a can. He was sent to Bajor for experimentation. The Cardassians being uninterested in canned ooze.

The first time he transformed, he took the form of a lamp. Sherlock remembered being irritated that his light was not as bright.

"Really, a lamp," said Doctor Watson sitting against the wall of the lift.

"Yes, Doctor Watson." Sherlock shifted, if not without effort. They'd been trapped for almost eighteen hours since DS9's power had failed. Sherlock straining to retain shape.

Doctor Watson shook his head. "Amazing, no matter how many times I see it."

Sherlock very much wanted to amaze Doctor Watson. He enjoyed when Doctor Watson took leave of his duties to investigate the sort of mysteries that came through a space station. Took care in selecting the most bizarre to whet his interest. What Sherlock didn't want was to become was ooze in front of him.

"Sherlock, I know that you need to…" Doctor Watson smiled, "return to your natural state. It's all fine. The fact that you can change into anything is amazing. Also, call me John."

He cupped his hands. With weary sigh, Sherlock gave in. Pooled in John's lap.

Though that didn't stop him from amusing John with sparkles of brilliant bio-luminescence.


	113. It's a Bird. It's a Plane.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John's parents waited until he was a teen to show him the spaceship that had carried him to earth when was a wee bairn.
> 
> He was inoculating children when Sherlock Holmes arrived at the refugee camp asking the sorts of questions that John didn't need.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trope: Superman [fusion](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Fusion). One of them is an alien.  
> Warning: It's dangerous to heat your own cup of tea with heat ray vision. Or fun. While John Cleese's take on Superman in GB is funny, I'd rather think of it going this way.

John's parents waited until he was a teen to show him the spaceship that had carried him to earth when was a wee bairn.

His mum squeezed him. His da said, "We love you as our own." Harry slammed the door.

John sometimes wondered why his birth parents had done it. The ship held no clues. He grew into a man with secrets. He studied medicine to understand humanity. Joined the MSF because he wanted to help.

He was inoculating children when Sherlock Holmes arrived at the refugee camp asking the sorts of questions that John didn't need. Told himself the truth was so outlandish, who would think it.

It took Sherlock one day. "Alien or meta human?"

"I don't know what you mean," stalled John.

"Please, you correctly identify broken limbs with a glance, go on supply runs and return with goods in Tesco bags, which implies super speed, though I'm leaning towards speed and flight, and," Sherlock glanced down at John's cuppa, "you find heating your own tea amusing." He folded his hands. "I was sent to verify that the entity acting in this area isn't a threat. I've done that. This will go no further. But I am curious. Alien or meta human?"

He flew Sherlock to his parent's house to show him the spaceship in the basement.


	114. Tell My Ma I ain't Coming Back

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock was by nature curious. 
> 
> John was designed for space.
> 
> It as a partnership born in the black.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trope: They're both aliens.  
> Warning: Who knows what lurks in Europa's seas.

Sherlock was by nature curious. Mycroft claimed it was because Sherlock had been greedy for royal jelly when in the wax, which naturally Sherlock didn't believe. Sherlock still could fly on razor sharp wings, unlike some family members.

In the seedy spaceport dock, Sherlock stared at Jon to make sure xier understood. "I'm never going to breed and form a colony."

"It's fine. I was grown in a vat myself," said Jon, adjusting xiers golden struts. Xier had been engineered for space flight. A project scrapped when the breakthrough in FTL made solar sailing a rich biomes hobby.

They went to new worlds. Explored different biospheres. Necessarily, transported goods that were on no manifest.

When biology demanded Sherlock's due, Jon would form a small cell where Sherlock would nest. Brood. Produce unfertilized eggs to be left as solitary pyramids on uninhabited worlds.

Jon was always happier when those black times past. When Sherlock would playfully groom Jon's oxygen hood, where Jon's pleasure centers were grouped.

The scent of the air changed. Took a golden hue. Sherlock played happy melodies on xiers legs.

They'd traversed a black mood and into gold when they came to the Sol system. They paused to leave Sherlock's eggs near the edge of a frozen sea.

Never realizing that those eggs weren't precisely unfertilized. Resulting in biogenesis. 


	115. After the Invasion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock was an Augmentos. The caste bred by the Ziyadi to rule the teaming peoples of Earth.   
> John caste was not so high. Hoplite. A fighter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trope: Alien Invasion. [Slave](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Slavefic) fic.  
> Warnings: John gets out of this much easier than in most slave fic. Err... sorry.

Sherlock was an Augmentos. The caste bred by the Ziyadi to rule the teaming peoples of Earth. The world they'd conquered for its location on the star routes. The Ziyadi had found this an efficient system.

John caste was not so high. Hoplite. Raised in the gymnasia to fight on D-class worlds. John loved it. Better than the Periokoi, dust dwellers, who never even left Earth. John had been to other worlds. Killed. Loved.

Broken on Maiwand.

The Ziyadi were parsimonious with broken tools. John was put to auction. Caste Duolus, guard and medic. Sherlock hadn't been looking for a Duolus.

Had been there to investigate the death of an Augmentos.

Reasoned that he could use John's skills.

Traded secrets for him.

On John's quiet question, said, "Not my area."

Plugged into his Mind Construct to avoiding looking at John, as he bustled about their sphere on Baker branch.

John saved Sherlock from the Periokoi staging suicides. Was moderately clever on the Variance Swarm smuggling case. Wrestled Sherlock into his bunk after the Wymen drugged him.

The bolt of realization on the HOUND.

Sherlock wanted. Could order. Knew what that would do.

Gave John his freedom.

Sulked as the door slid closed.

John returned. "I needed two breaths of free air." Soothed Sherlock's rioting mind. Held Sherlock in his, their, bunk.


	116. Blowing his Mind (Palace)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Every time John and Sherlock have sex, it metaphorically blows Sherlock's mind (palace).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let's see if second time is the charm for posting this.  
> Trope: [Amnesia fic.](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Amnesia)  
> Warning: Explicit M/M sex, hand job, anal.

1

He blinked. Awake?

(There'd been an explosion. Stood groaning in a shattered building.)

He also stood in a dark hallway groaning. Sensation flaring where he ground against the man pinned against the wall. Who he was pinning.

The man gathered his shattered breath. "Guess you're not married to your work."

He didn't know. He said, "Who are you?" Also, "Who am I?"

"Oh, God."

Probably not the answer. He'd have to deduce it.

 

13

(A ruined building.)

Also, comfortable sofa. A man on top of him, a pleasurable blanket. A hand wrapped around his… cock? That was the word. Sweat cooling on his skin.

Explosion echoing.

The man said against his shoulder, "You're Sherlock. I'm John. It's fine." Sighed. "No, actually…"

Sherlock (he was Sherlock) kissed John.

 

23

He blinked. (Ash fell from the shattered roof.)

Lips wrapped around his… cock? Yes. Swallowing the electromagnetic pulse. Still pulsing.

When he could, he focused on the writing on the ceiling.

"You're Sherlock. That's John. He loves you."

 

50

There was something he was supposed to remember. (Everything. No. One thing).

Hips moving. Sweat soaked bodies. Cock… (yes) buried hot, wet, slick, too much.

Not enough.

He raced. Sped up. Grappled for a word.

Groaned, "John," as the world exploded.

(When the dust settled, Sherlock spun open the door of the bunker.)


	117. Staring at the Rubble

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John ought to call what they're doing off. The most brilliant man (mind) he's ever met crumbling with touch.
> 
> But... well, he's a bad man and just can't resist.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trope: [Amnesia fic](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Amnesia)  
> Warning: M/M sex, anal sex, language.

2

John told himself that he wasn't going to look at Sherlock's pale neck and think, "I literally blew your mind."

"More like figuratively," said Sherlock. "My mind palace is a mental construct." He moved closer. Crowded John against the door. "Most likely an aberration."

It wasn't.

This time Sherlock's amnesia possibly lasted three hours. Nuzzling against John. Bright eyed and curious.

3

Possibly, because there was no way to tell. They stroked each other on the sofa until Sherlock came in John's hand.

John looked into curious eyes. Thought, "What am I going to do?"

Said, "You're Sherlock. I'm John. It's fine."

 

32

"Every time is the first time," said John. "You don't need to… not if you don't,"

"John," Sherlock dropped the sheet he'd been wearing. "I want to." Sherlock was already dangerously hard. He sat on the edge of the bed. Pulled something thick out of his arse. "I've been on the edge of oblivion all day, waiting."

John was a very bad man.

He told Sherlock he loved astronomy.

 

33

Sherlock's revenge was French. 

 

50

He heard Sherlock groan his name. Was too worked up getting his own mind fucked out to hope. That came later.

Sherlock pulled out. Wrapped hot sweaty limbs around him. Said, "Your name is John and you are my…." he grinned, "beau."


	118. The Prince of Regent's Park

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They told him that his name was John. He drifted into a life living in Regent's park. He hears about Sherlock before he met him, but nothing could have prepared him.
> 
> Then again, he didn't remember anything.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trope: [Amnesia](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Amnesia)  
> Warning: M/M sexuality. Handjob.

They told him his name was John. He'd been a soldier. A doctor. Wounded. But not in the head. In the shoulder. Nothing wrong with his head.

Except he couldn't remember.

John's shoulder also hurt.

A woman, his sister, took him home. He didn't like it. She drank. Ranted.

He left. Nowhere to go. Left anyway. Walked all night. Ended up at a café by Regent's canal. Café owner let him wash dishes for food.

Built an irregular house in a tree in the nearby park.

Collected his pension for his service.

Beat the shite out of any wanker, who messed with the homeless in his park.

S' why he was called Regent. 

Heard about Sherlock Holmes before they met. Still wasn't ready for him. Like the bomb he'd forgotten. Followed a bloke for Sherlock in exchange for twenty quid. Followed some more. Followed him home when Sherlock offered a shower. Wasn't expecting the handjob, which was… John curled his fingers in dark hair and thought fierce thoughts.

When his genius went missing, he organized the irregulars. Found Sherlock in an abandoned building next to a dead body. Sherlock wasn't dead. Almost. Made him throw up. Fed him milk and charcoal to slow the poison. Took him home.

Made sure Sherlock kept breathing all night in John's home in the boughs.


	119. Prince's Night

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trope: [Amnesia](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Amnesia). Sherlock's pov of previous chapter.  
> Warning: M/M sexuality. Hand job. Oral sex. Language.

Regent was interesting. Not his military history. Common enough. Not even his medical background. No. His fierce loyalty.

Sherlock could use loyalty like that.

He was a sociopath. He carefully inculcated Regent's loyalty to himself. Money. Food. A shower (a necessity). Pleasurable strokes that had his pet groaning his name.

Knew he'd done the right thing when he woke up after selecting the wrong (how could he have been wrong) pill. He was in Regent's tree house. With a glittering eyed Regent, who said, "Stay still. You're still processing the poison." Growled some more. Buried his face in Sherlock's shoulder.

Sherlock kissed his loyal pet's forehead. Gave him a treat. Wasn't expecting him to more than return the favor. Swaying in an old oak, came in Regent's mouth. Wasn't the most dangerous thing they'd ever done.

Regent wasn't supposed to kill the Golem. Sherlock should have punished. But how could he given the way Regent looked.  

Jim stole his pet. Sherlock berated himself for not bringing Regent inside at night.

Jim giggled about strapping Regent with bombs. Burning Sherlock's heart.

Sherlock dialed 999.

Regent twisted with Jim into the pool. Sherlock followed. Air trapped in the plastic bag he kept Regent's toys in. Bullets shattered on the water's surface tension.

Jim found out that Regent's bite was worse than his bark.


	120. A Couple of Empty Houses

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John doesn't remember the explosion that killed his sister.
> 
> Sherlock doesn't say if he remembers trying to poison himself. 
> 
> Just a couple of empty houses looking to be filled.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trope: They All have [Amnesia](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Amnesia). All being John and Sherlock.   
> Warnings: They hobble. They impugn the faithfulness of Maitre Holmes.

He couldn't remember the gas explosion that killed his sister, and twenty other people. Couldn't remember most things. He knew his name. John. The bones in the hand. Wisps.

The settlement from the city put him in a private rehabilitation centre in Cornwall. John hobbled the halls chasing his memory. Resenting the aphasia that turned words into gibberish fish.

Bloke across the way didn't say anything. Didn't remember anything. Was an empty box. It helped put things in perspective.

Sherlock was supposed to have been a genius. He'd tried to commit suicide by poison. The last of the serial suicides. The one that lived.

At first, he lay propped up in his bed staring at the waves. John hobbled into Sherlock's room every day. Babbled. Sherlock's eyes turned to him.

That's what he was doing when Sherlock's brother visited. The brother said, "Doctor Watson, if that term still applies, Sherlock is not here for your speech therapy."

John wanted to say, "Sod off."  Choked on words.

A dry voice rasped from the bed. "Sod off."

They looked at Sherlock, who had lifted a hand to point at the door.

Mycroft sodded off.

John searched for a word, returning a foolish smile for Sherlock's grin, said, "Bastard."

Sherlock's face folded thoughtfully. "My memory palace is in ruins. But I… yes. A bastard."


	121. I Never Promised You a Flying Car

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock was the best Crypto Sniff there was. He and 3continents had Ops all over the net.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trope: [Cyberpunk.](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Cyberpunk)  
> Warnings: Those of you who are older than Gen X, apologies since you were actually promised a flying car.

Sherlock lived in a container in an inter Corp zone.

Mrs. Hudson owned the containers. She lived in Baker A, which she referred to as, "Cozy as can be," followed by a description of life as an Infiltrator for MedCo.

That was when Sherlock normally jacked in. He lived in a metal box. His cyber construct was a crystal palace by an azure sea.

This was why he hadn't met the other tenant. That and the structural integrity wall in case the hull failed during a Zoner raid.

Sherlock was not a Zoner. He'd modded in his younger days, thus the tiger's claws, but he was a Crypto Sniff now.

He got a ping from a client, who was being accusing of fragging an uploaded data architect named Newacre in the Norwood data centre.

Sherlock IMed 3continents, "A case is compiling."

3continent's avatar appeared by the amethyst rose bush. 

They transported to Norwood. Sherlock realized that what everyone thought was Newacre was a fragged cat vid. Newacre wasn't fragged at all, merely hiding in an unlisted virtual machine.

Newacre tried to bounce, but 3continent closed the port. Case closed. Back to the palace. 3continents marvelling at Sherlock. Laughing at the cat vid.

Sherlock yearned for an upgrade to their relationship. Left it unsaid. Better to revel in the post case buzz.  


	122. I Was Promised a Cyber Distopia

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John lived in a container. Lived for when Redbeard pinged him for an adventure.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trope: [Cyberpunk](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Cyberpunk)  
> Warning: Misuse of tech terms. I mean seriously, misused. Though I have always considered dongles a bit pervy. Especially the physical ones that sometimes just fall out of the port. I hate it when they do that.

John's mum had always said, "I was never promised a flying car. I was promised a cyber dystopia. Now eat your neuto glop."

Needless to say, John had joined up with BEI Co's Security division as soon as he could take the test.

Great, until some Black Hats fried his synapse calibrators turning three years of debt into thirty at his new pay grade.

Somewhere, there was a credit bounty on his head. He couldn't do Corp work, but he could do off patent mod jobs in his half of the container where he lived.

Mostly lived for when Redbeard pinged him. Zipping along Transpo layers on adventures. When they weren't on the post case buzz. Clicking away together. The same dark humour. The same taste in sunsets.

Then he'd merged code with Redbeard. It had been a hot fix with unlimited clicks in the virtual dongle. A data cluster. Front-end to back-end.

Things had gotten awkward with Redbeard since. Redbeard didn't want a Transport layer relationship. John had been raised BEI. He couldn't ask where Redbeard lived.

John felt like he'd encrypted a database without saving the keys.

He did what a person did. He complained to his mates over alg-beer.

One of his mates, Stamford, stared at him. "John, I thought you knew. You are literally sharing a B-address*."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *base address


	123. We are the Children of SCIENCE!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A few rules on the Arc needed to change if they were to survive.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trope: Fusion with the 300.  
> Warnings: I spent most of S1 for the 300 offering the people on the Arc my advice for extending resources based on other stories I've read. Waste not want not.

Mycroft was not the Chancellor of the Arc, the cobbled together conglomeration of the space stations that had been in orbit when the nuclear war happened. He did find his way onto the Council and a few rules were changed. Spacing people as punishment for one.

"Bodies are too precious a resource to toss into space," he said with a smile. He hadn't needed to see the reports to know that the Arc would fail in twenty years if changes weren't made.

Sherlock refused to eat the soilent greens.

Mycroft didn't tell him the foods grown in composted waste material wasn't much better. He did want him to actually eat, or breathe the air that the expanded hydroponics were now able to produce.

The brain drain that flowed from summary executions was a slightly different issue. But here Mycroft tended certain inefficiencies.

Repossessing additional children and indenturing the offending parents proved more popular than the alternative.

Sherlock never did forgive Mycroft for indenturing their parents to hydroponics, but Sherrinford was happy not to have been raised under the floorboards.

Improvements to the Arc education system with the slogan, "We are the children of SCIENCE!"

Sherlock sniffed when he saw the signs.

John, who now could now transfer into the medical track, said, "We are."

Sherlock glared.

John ate his soilent banana.


	124. Marry, Shag, Cliff

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sally looked around the Hogwarts Dining Hall. "Professor Sholto, Sherlock or… Mary."
> 
> John knew how he "should" answer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trope: Potterlock, Teenlock.  
> Warnings: M/M sex between teens.

Sally looked around the Hogwarts Dining Hall. "Professor Sholto, Sherlock or… Mary. One of each house."

Mike protested, "What no love for Hufflepuff?"

"It's just marry, shag, cliff," said Sally.

The safe answer was marry Mary, shag Sholto to improve his Defense Against Dark Arts grade, cliff Sherlock. It's what he should say. Wasn't as if they were mates.

The Slytherin boy always stared at John. He was staring right then.

What John did say was, "I'll cliff Mary. We broke up ages ago. Marry Professor Sholto for extra credit. Which leaves shag Sherlock." John knew he was blushing.

"Really, Sherlock!" Sally blinked at him. "Who doesn't say anything unless it's to tell you what a moron you are. Sherlock!"

"Keep your voice down," said John.

Across the room, Sherlock's eyes narrowed.

John changed the subject.

Course, Mary heard about it. John got the stink eye until the nurse took it off. Professor Sholto sighed. "You don't need extra credit, Mr. Watson."

Sherlock slipped John a note outside of Potions. "Agreed. Library. Magical History. Midnight." John could have just not gone.

Midnight found him sneaking through dark halls. Twelve ten had them out of their robes. Twelve twenty was a muttered lube spell. Twelve thirty had John casting a spell to stifle Sherlock's babbling as John shagged him among the books.


	125. Echoes on the Tube

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A simple premise. Have Sherlock Holmes, who filled concert halls, play his Stradivarius during rush hour on the tube and see if anyone stopped.
> 
> A segment for a new television series, Observation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trope: Other careers. Different meeting.  
> Warning: Music in the tube.

A simple premise. Have Sherlock Holmes, who filled concert halls, play his Stradivarius during rush hour on the tube and see if anyone stopped.

A segment for a new television series, Observation.

Sherlock took up position. The cameras hidden.

Started with Tchaikovsky's violin concerto in D major, Op 35. The sound echoed away from him.

Commuters rushed by. A few dropped coins. Paused. No one stopped.

Next he taunted with the complexity of Paganini's Caprice No 1.

A man limped up. Listened.

When the last notes drifted, away his audience was still there.

"That was fantastic," said the man.

Sherlock catalogued him. He'd played rugby. Injury on the field. Now coaching at university.

Sherlock waited to be recognized. Said, "Thank you." Still nothing. "I'm Sherlock Holmes."

"John Watson." The man shook his head. "You should be….not here."

Sherlock smirked. "Music for the masses."

"I… you know sod it. How long will you be playing?"

Honest appreciation then. Unknowing. Unknown. Sherlock had been a child prodigy. A prodigy still.

"Another hour. Preferences."

John spread his hands.

Sherlock played Sarasate's variation of the Carmen Fantasy. Was rewarded with John's eyes shining.

Shifting into Mozart's Concerto No 5.

Playing not for the camera or audiences, but for John. Joy echoing on tile. Seduction. Crowds rushing by. Just a rugby coach stopped by a busker.


	126. Art Makes Demands

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock had eschewed passion in favor of his art. But if ballet required passion, he'd be passionate.
> 
> One encounter should be sufficient.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trope: Different careers. Ballet Sherlock. Football John  
> Warning: M/M sex. Handjob. Sex. Abuse of Ballet terms read in a dictionary of ballet terms.  
> Follows in next chapter.

"A technically perfect dancer." Hated modifier.

Sherlock had eschewed passion in favor of his art. But if ballet required passion, he'd be passionate.

One encounter should be sufficient.

But how? Bars were unpleasant.

Online. Too many unknowns.

A wedding invitation from the company choreographer. Perfect.

The man seated to his left at dinner would do.

"Barca or Madrid." Realized his mistake immediately. He'd lose the best candidate in the room. Idiot!

John laughed. "Madrid. I… has Mike been talking about me."

Sherlock paused his panic. "Your stance indicates football. Tan and Spanish aftershave indicate Spain."

"That's amazing." John brushed his thumb against Sherlock's hand. "So,"

No reason to waste time. "Am very flexible and have a room."

"Right." John stood up. "Dinner's probably rubbish."

Sherlock had understood the mechanics, but not the sensation of an adagio grind in the lift. The Echappe of sliding skin on skin. A glissande tumble into bed. John's fingers fondu stretching him. A pleasurable batterie. His own hand fouette upon John's prick. The shocked gasp at John's grande jete. His own body pique by John. Utterly ouverte. The grand battement of legs. The loud cries of elevation. The hot gasp of their codas.

Sherlock decided this required further study.

Sherlock moved into John's flat. Madrid had an excellent ballet company.

He'd make any sacrifice for… ballet.


	127. Love of His Life

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John met the love of his life at a Mike's wedding.
> 
> There was sometimes the friction of two athletes. John off to a football game in Prague, while Sherlock was performing Giselle for a month in Boston. Jealous pouts. Thrown crockery.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trope: Other careers. Sherlock is a ballet dancer. John plays football (not American football). Together, they're shacked up.  
> Warning: Sherlock can sometimes be an idiot. aka... a variation on the Fall.  
> Follows from previous chapter.

John met the love of his life at a Mike's wedding.

Mike gave him no end of shite for the disappearing act. But John was still too spun to protest.

Life was Sherlock was fantastic. Chaotic. The man made love in French. He did not know how the milk was purchased.

Simply did not know.

The friction of two athletes. John off to a game in Prague, while Sherlock was performing for a month in Boston. Jealous pouts. Thrown crockery.

Still, he was blindsided when Sherlock left. Just… One day John was talking about these starry eyed kids who came to visit the team. The next, there was a note that made no sense. Sherlock was gone.

Eighteen months reduced to a scarf forgotten under John's pants.

John tried to contact Sherlock. Like talking to a grave.

He pulled himself together. Two years went by in a dull blink. 

The accident was sheer carelessness. Players were always clutching their spleens. Trying to get cards on the other team. John, he was out cold.

Woke up to find Sherlock glaring at him. "You were supposed to be married with children by now."

"When did I…" Gave up. John had an IV in his arm. Couldn't hit his idiot. Tugged Sherlock onto the bed. Told him, "You and me. In the forever box."


	128. Brix

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock couldn't make brix without sunshine. Terroir. Rain.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trope: Different Career  
> Warning: I sat on the balcony of a winery over looking a coastal mountain range sipping a really lovely blend that tasted like a dark red velvet dress that drifted on a breeze from a cedar woods. I obeyed the directions and sipped my wine.

Sherlock couldn't make brix without sunshine. Terroir. Rain. Fog rolling in from the coast over the Pinot Noir. Producing wine that tasted like cherry blossoms exploding in a Kyoto breeze. The Sauvignon Blanc that he tied up for the lime tarts and mineral surprise. The old vine Zinfandel that growled with peppery age. The blend that tasted like an emperor riding through city gates as flowers rained down.

Sherlock did not add sugar.

The damnable wine festival rolled on with horrible guest after guest.

The current victor, a Doctor on holiday, swallowed. "Good plonk."

Sherlock prepared to rail against the fall of civilization.

"You know," the man licked his lips, "It tastes like triumph." He shook his head. "I was in the,"

"Army," Sherlock added.

"Yeah. How did you know?" He laughed. "Tastes like riding into some village where you just prevented something nasty, and the kids are all yelling for chocolate, and the village elders want you there and everything is just…" He took another swallow. "Perfect."

Sherlock reached under the bar for the blend that he personally thought tasted like pure sin lounging silk fleshed against a velvet coverlet.

John, since they were on first names now, breathed deep. "Oh!" Drank. Sighed. "What makes it taste like that?"

Sherlock poured a little more in John's glass. "Sunshine. Terroir. Brix."


	129. Brew

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John didn't need a medical background to brew beer, but it helped.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trope: Different careers.  
> Warning: I actually prefer cider to beer.

It didn't take a medical background to brew beer, but it helped.

Hills heavy with golden barley. Hops. Malted sugar. Yeast. Metal fermentation tanks. Especially the fermentation tanks, which could if handled incorrectly could blow up while the beer was getting its alcohol on.

That had happened at the first brewery where John had worked. He'd taken shrapnel in the shoulder, bruised a shin and learned a valuable lesson in when to tell the master brewer to fuck off. Yeast could be a nasty bitch.

On to the partial mashes. The all grain.

John's favourite was a classic imperial red ale made with rye, base malt, aromatic malt, a handful of steel cut oats, and five different hops. All English yeast. Coconut flakes. It made John think of a torch singer in some island breeze shack crooning her heart out over the love she wanted to tangle in the sheets.

He honestly hadn't meant anything by it when he poured a glass for Sherlock, the consultant there to investigate the dead body in the parking lot.

Actually, he might have. The man's cheekbones could cut glass.

Sherlock drank. Paused.

Eyes flickered.

"What do you think?"

"I think that his partner killed Jonathan Fisher to hide embezzled funds. And that I'd be interested in pursuing more than just this very evocative beer."


	130. Mad Science in Between

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> On one side of the man-made-cave, Sherlock made wine. John made beer on the other side.
> 
> In the middle, there was mad science.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trope: Other careers.  
> Warning: Possibly less mad science, and more mad engineering. Not a lot of hypothesis. Quite a lot of just trying things.

Sherlock lowered his goggles and welded another coil of copper tubing.

On one side of the man-made cave were French oak barrels. Personally selected by Sherlock's forester. There were the egg shaped ceramic vats half buried in the earth that Sherlock had made from red Burgundy clay. He was experimenting in earth and oak wine fermentation. Vat shapes.

On the other side were gleaming metal tanks. Nozzles and tubes. Barley fermenting into brew. Except for the one on the end that Sherlock stole to steel age his Sauvignon Blanc, which was fine. John was experimenting in below ground fermentation in Sherlock's ceramic vats.

In between was where the mad science (and or engineering) happened.

They also had an upside down bathtub to show where their gin wasn't made. John was occasionally a little disturbed to think about what herbs beyond juniper Sherlock put in their gin.

Three gold medals and a hint of earth after the rain fell on the desert in a glass.

John came over and put his hand on Sherlock's shoulder. Squeezed as Sherlock put the final finishing touches on his design. Spiralling copper tubes. Glass.

Sherlock loved the way John tasted when he brewed.

John loved the way Sherlock played with fermentation. Distillation. Let the angels have their share. John'd rather have Sherlock's kisses brushed with brandy.


	131. Corner Coffee Shop

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There was an extremely clear division of labour.
> 
> John dealt with customers. Sherlock made coffee

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trope: Other careers. [](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Coffee_Shop_AU'>Coffee%20Shop%20AU/Barista.</a><br%20/>%0AWarning:%20After%20the%20last%20several%20alcoholic%20chapters,%20I%20figured%20this%20could%20use%20some%20caffeine.)

There was an extremely clear division of labour.

John dealt with customers. Sherlock made coffee. There was a sign and everything on the till. "Sherlock is not required to speak with customers. If this occurs pull this cord."

The cord attached to a wooden gun on the wall that ejected a small "Sorry" flag.

Sherlock was not sorry.

John wasn't actually sorry either.

One wall was painted with chalkboard paint. Regulars could write their favourite Sherlockisms.

They had quite a few regulars.

Sherlock made the most divine coffee that had ever been cold, slow, flash, whatever brewed. He was an artist at the science of coffee.

Let StarPeetwhatever brew what they wanted. At "L'Art" they served whatever Sherlock had worked out for the day. John came down from their flat upstairs and wrote the day's offerings on the board.

John did not want to think about how they were serving coffee digested through the intestines of an elephant, which was like an elephant in the room, but more esoteric. John named the blend Dumbo.

Sherlock refused to call it that. Sherlock called it Digessi a Elephas Maximus Sumatrensis

Sherlock spent long hours muttering over beans. Roasts. Grind. Blends. He'd stay there all night if John didn't come downstairs and whisper in his ear, "How about a grind with my favourite barista."


	132. A Guide for the World

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They said, "Sherlock, there's no shame in being a Guide."
> 
> Sherlock knew better.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trope: [Sentinelverse.](http://themadkatter13fanfiction.tumblr.com/post/113352159488/sherlock-au-basics-sentinelverse) Sherlock is a Guide. John a Sentinel.  
> Warning: Nothing much to see.
> 
> Followed up in next chapter.

"Sherlock, there's no shame in being a Guide."

Sherlock knew better.

Sentinels were adventurers or scientists, seeing what others couldn't. Great-Grandfather Holmes discovered a reagent that identified human blood.

Guides were at the whim of the emotions around them. Swooning into the spirit world. Living only to keep Sentinels from zoning.  

He learned how to shield at the Tower. Built a thick wall around his mind castle.

What nature hadn't given, he gained through force of will.

Sherlock perceived and observed. At crime scenes, surrounded by emotion, he felt nothing.

He looked at the woman in pink. Wondered why she'd scratched her dead child's name on the floor.

"Bit not good." Sherlock felt a rush of affection for John. His own feelings. John was a Sentinel. Sherlock didn't drop his walls.

Not over Chinese. When John remembered the graffiti on the wall. A thousand opportunities.

It was the thousandth and first time. Reeling from the effects of seeing the Hound, he glared at John with his ability to see, but not understand. Sherlock threw down his walls and threw his emotions out and… felt John's concern. Warmth. Love. The comforting lick of John's spirit animal, a panther. His own wolf nuzzling him.

Saw the bond that was already binding them in the spirit world.

Realized he'd spent his life wilfully blind.


	133. Sentinel for the World

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They said, "John, it's an honour to be a Sentinel."
> 
> It didn't feel like an honour.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trope: Sentinelverse. John is a Sentinel.  
> Warning: Nothing much.  
> Follows on previous chapter.

"John, it's an honour to be a Sentinel."

It didn't feel like an honour. John felt was overwhelmed. A scent or a sound could send him zoning. Had to have a Guide pull him back. When they didn't fuck with his emotions. Want to talk about emotions. Fuss. Manipulate. Had to figure bonding with a Guide would be worse.

Sherlock was the strangest Guide he'd ever met. His barriers were up constantly. Did not give a fuck about what he should say. Just said what he thought.

John could see a smear of mud on a shoe. Sherlock understood what that smear meant.

John shouldn't have been able to make that shot. Not with a handgun. Should have ended up zoning on the focus, but Sherlock was this bright point. His spirit animal roaring to keep Sherlock safe.

John shouldn't have moved in. He knew that as they ate Chinese. Felt the click of a one sided bond. It was why he went after Sarah so hard. With Sherlock literally shutting him out as he went into danger. Everything in him said, this was his Guide. His pack. His tether to this world and the next.

There on the moors, helpless to help Sherlock snarling at his own emotions. Reached out. Miraculously, felt the moment that Sherlock opened to their bond.


	134. The Bathroom Zone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Every Holmes since the first Tower had been a Sentinel. Sherlock was no exception. It was what he did with what he perceived that mattered.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trope: [Sentinelverse](http://themadkatter13fanfiction.tumblr.com/post/113352159488/sherlock-au-basics-sentinelverse). Sherlock Sentinel.  
> Warnings: Mild M/M in the bathtub.
> 
> Followed in the next chapter.

Every Holmes since the first Tower had been a Sentinel. Sherlock was no exception. It was what he did with what he perceived that mattered.

The Tower Matchmakers paraded Guides for bonding. Morons. Idiots. Focusing on emotions and ignoring facts.

He explained to John that he never intended to bond. John shrugged. "It'll keep them off our backs if we say we're trying it on."

Reasonable.

John was not a disagreeable flatmate. Even if they did have to keep journals for the Tower representatives.

Sherlock wrote when he zoned when examining Briarwood clay and John pulled him out of it. Tendrils of empathy a steady rope through the forest of his mind. True. Irrelevant. However much it pleased their Matchmaker.

Wrote when John swooned on the deck of the Tilly Briggs with the effort of trying to calm the passengers while Sherlock snarled at the Mutes getting between him and John. His spirit panther snarled.

After solving Tom Bevin's murder by his flatmate, Sherlock couldn't help but think of John dying the same way. Sat next to John, who wouldn't bathe with the door open. Took over scrubbing because John missed things. Musky sweat. John's heartbeat. Their merging gasps. The sound of falling water as he climbed between John's legs. Sliding slick skin. Panting in the forest. Bonding in the bath.


	135. Swoon in the Bathtub

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The baths were killing John.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trope: [Sentinelverse.](http://themadkatter13fanfiction.tumblr.com/post/113352159488/sherlock-au-basics-sentinelverse) Guide John.  
> Warning: Vaguely described M/M sex in the bathtub. No floors were injured. Okay, maybe a bit wet.
> 
> Follows on the previous chapter.

The baths were killing John.

 

 

John hadn't minded his latent empathy rising since he'd been shot. Preferred to keep it to helping his patients calm down. His partners getting the most out of sex.

But getting bonded to some arse the Tower selected for him was not happening.

He and Sherlock moved in together based on a deal. Record their "deepening" bond in the Tower mandated journals. Get left alone.

Didn't expect how well his wolf got on with Sherlock's panther. How soft and safe he felt when he woke up on the deck of the Tilly Briggs with Sherlock growling at the Mutes to get away from his Guide.

After Sherlock solved Tim Leng's murder – asphyxiated in the bath when his flatmate put damp towels by the door – Sherlock became increasingly territorial. It wasn't as if John thought Sherlock was trying to kill him.

Actually, he was trying to kill him. By sitting next to the tub when John took his baths. Stripping because it was hot. Washing John because John missed a spot.

John didn't start taking showers.

He did lower his barriers. Revelled in the emotions steaming out of Sherlock. The pleasure Sherlock felt when he licked a bead of sweat. The joy as he slid in with John. The satisfaction as they came together in the bathtub.  


	136. Unsettled

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John's daemon, Chari, settled into a bulldog when he was nine. Everyone said, "It means John knows who he is." Talked about loyalty. Tutted over John's twin, Harry, whose daemon, Pasha, didn't settle into a parakeet until she was fifteen.
> 
> Sherlock's daemon, Eris, didn't settle when he was nine or fifteen. Not when he was twenty. Twenty and ten.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trope: His Dark Materials fusion.  
> Warnings: Unsettled Sherlock in his own mind.

John's daemon, Chari, settled into a bulldog when he was nine. Everyone said, "It means John knows who he is." Talked about loyalty. Tutted over John's twin, Harry, whose daemon, Pasha, didn't settle into a parakeet until she was fifteen.

Sherlock's daemon, Eris, didn't settle when he was nine or fifteen. Not when he was twenty. Twenty and ten.

When a shot went through a window, Eris flowed from an owl to a howler monkey. When they stood by a pool, she panther growled at Jim's cobra and folded into a mongoose. At the edge of a fall, Eris went from a stamping horse into a tiny bee. Unseen by John below. She didn't even settle when Sherlock came back. Shifting from a tuxedo'd calm cat to a penitent bloodhound. Nor as Sherlock gave his best man's speech. Flitting eagle to tiger among the guests. Not even as he shot Magnussen, the man's daemon, a razorback hog, shimmering into gold dust.

It occurred in his own mind. He stood on the edge of a precipice. The John of his hopes pushed the Moriarty of his fears into the abyss. Said, "There's always two us," and Sherlock believed it.

As Sherlock joyfully jumped into his new fall, Eris took her final shape. From a moth in the mist into a hunting borzoi.


	137. The Foghorn and the Beast + Lighthouse

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock was not the foghorn. 
> 
> John wasn't the foghorn either. He turned it on when the world went grey.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trope: Fusion with a Ray Bradbury story, "The Fog Horn".   
> Warnings: I'm using the word foghorn as one word. Ha.

Sherlock was not the foghorn. That would be ridiculous. Sherlock was the ancient creature called from unknowable depths by the foghorn's call.

John wasn't the foghorn either. Seriously, the things you're considering.

John was the lighthouse keeper, who turned the foghorn on when the world lost its edges. Yes, you might insist that this made him the foghorn keeper, but there was also a light, which swept the wide open sea like a great eye.

Sherlock saw the light and immediately knew several things. The foghorn was not some other member of his long dead species summoning him to mate, which, of course, he hadn't even remotely been interested in, but at least it could have been a conversation. Also, someone was operating the light and the horn. He rose up out of the depths. Peered in the windows on the occasion of the light being pointed the other direction. Blindness not being his goal.

A tiny creature, no smaller than his smallest flipper gazed back.

They looked at each other. The monster rising from unimaginable depths on the thread of a call. The lighthouse keeper who'd tumbled to this place after finding himself no other place to go.

The creature had forgotten the stars.

The lighthouse keeper had no way to descend to the depths.

They met in the between


	138. Parents of Monsters

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock only told Eve to eat the fruit because John said it was very tasty. Suggested that it would be a great idea if Sherlock ate some of the fruit herself, which she hadn't, because she didn't need knowledge. She already knew too much.
> 
> No reason for Mycroft to get stroppy and take away her lovely long legs.
> 
> On the plus side, it did make stalking... errr... following John in the garden when he was crowing much easier.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trope: Fusion with the Bible and folklore.  
> Warning: When a cockerel and a snake love each other very much, then they have a little baby monster. Trufacts.  
> Also, as I thought about the tree of knowledge, birds and bees, I couldn't resist a certain song lyric. You'll know it when you see it.

Sherlock coiled in the branches of the tree. Sulked.

She'd only told the woman to eat from the tree of knowledge because she and the man were idiots. Sherlock hadn't eaten. But a certain bird said the fruit was excellent. The bees too.

Her older brother Mycroft said, "That's no excuse," and took away her lovely long legs.

John crowed from the other side of the garden.

It occurred to Sherlock that it would be easier to follow John now. She slithered down from the tree.

John was standing on a rock.

There were stupid chickens all around him, vying for the quick turn of John's red combed head. His fluffy brown feathers.

John crowed and crowed.

John sighed and leapt down right next to where Sherlock was skulking in the grass. "Sherlock! I've been calling."

Sherlock licked the air, annoyed.

John scratched the earth. "Did you try the fruit like I suggested?"

Sherlock hissed, which might have implied yes or no.

"Great! So, umm… well, birds do it. Bees do it. Let's do it."

Sherlock hissed. Uncertain of what John might mean.

John leaned closer. "Let's fall in love."

Sherlock coiled around John. Squeezing the cock, but not too tight. "Yesssss," with a long sigh to her sibilants.

Months later, she proudly showed John their chick.

A little baby Basilisk.


	139. Look Him in the Eye

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mycroft crowed about being the king of monsters. As a Basilisk, he had deadly poison breath and a deadly gaze, while as a Cockatrice, Sherlock only had a deadly gaze.
> 
> It was not fair.
> 
> In the balance, there was John.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trope: Folklore about Cockatrices and Basilisks.  
> Warning: Basilisks should not be exposed to the voice of a weasel. Cockatrices that's a different story.

Mycroft crowed about being the king of monsters. As a Basilisk, he had deadly poison breath and a deadly gaze, while as a Cockatrice, Sherlock only had a deadly gaze.

There was also their brother, Sherrinford, who was a cockerel, and annoyed people at four in the morning by crowing. He was more than a bit of a cock.

Sherlock slumped backwards over a rock in the heart of a diamond cave in the heart of the Glass Mountains. Sulked.

"What are you doing?" John pressed his nose against Sherlock's neck feathers. He twitched to get away from John's warm nose and whiskers. Twitched back. Gave in and coiled around John. Preened John's fur.

"Come on, I have something to show you."

"There's nothing you can show me. The world is boring. Breathing is boring." He didn't want to come out of the cave and into the bright light.

"Come on." John twisted like the weasel he was.

Reluctantly, Sherlock followed John. Grumbled that people were going to die boringly. John couldn't get upset when random people became corpses.

"Hey, Mycroft!" John yelled.

Sherlock crowed with delight as Mycroft bolted before the voice of a weasel. Sherlock accidentally looked John in the eye. Remembered what he'd deleted. Weasels can look a Cockatrice in the eyes. They traded more than eye beams.


	140. Belle et Bete

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Danger woods were full of monsters. 
> 
> But John had nowhere to go since the war. Whittled a walking stick and went in.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trope: Fusion - Beauty and the Beast. Sherlock is the beast. John is the one who thinks things are beautiful.  
> Warning: For parallelism John ought to be the beast, but... Sherlock it is again.

Danger woods were full of monsters. 

But John had nowhere to go since the war. Whittled a walking stick and went in.

He came to a gleaming palace.

John went in. "Beautiful."

A great Beast charged into the room. Roared.

John'd heard guns crack the sky. What he hadn't seen was anything as fantastic as the Beast. Tall with wild curling black hair and a tailored suit. Fearsome teeth and claws. A hole where his heart should be.

John said, "Beast, I'm John. Your palace is beautiful."

Beast said, "Beauty, I'm not interested in marriage. I'm married to the hunt."

John shrugged. "Don't recall asking."

Beast hunted monsters. John loved it.

When the hunt was off, John walked about the palace. Beast skulking. Muttering,

"Colder."

"Warmer."

"Blazing."

John opened the face of a grandfather clock. Inside was another clock. Nine nesting clocks. From the ninth, a red sparrow flew out. John didn't catch it. He filled his hands with seeds. Waited for the bird to calm down. As it ate from his hands, he said, "Beast, want your heart back?"

Beast sighed in John's hair. "Keep it."

Since it was only fair, John gave Beast his own heart. A battered blue breasted bird.

The spell on the woods sighed. Let go. Beast, if less beastly, didn't let go.

"Beast."

"Beauty."

"Blazing."


	141. The Secret of Sherlock Holmes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dear Jim, fix this for me. Please, Mr. Holmes, my husband is having an affair. Fix it for me. It wasn't that he solved the cases he created. It was more symbiotic than that. Referrals to himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trope: A different character is Moriarty, in this case Sherlock is Moriarty.  
> Warning: Crumbling heterosexuality and a dire future on the run. May as well have Corrupt by Carissa Noel playing in the background. The title is a reference to the play by Jeremy Paul.

Genius required an audience. More than that. Complexity.

Sally had some plebeian vision of Sherlock standing over a bloodied corpse someday. The reality was a broader canvas.

Dear Jim, fix this for me. Please, Mr. Holmes, my husband is having an affair. Fix it for me. It wasn't that he solved the cases he created. It was more symbiotic than that. Referrals to himself.

Although, he had to admit, by the time he set the serial suicides upon the world, he was bored. So, bored that he double blinded himself so he didn't know the solution.

Dull. A fake gun. Two poison pills and a high tolerance based on blood thinners.

But there was the other experiment. John. Bored. Hungry. Hero worshipping. Trust issues. Trusting. Murdering. John.

Sometimes Sherlock had to gnaw on a knuckle to keep from blurting it all out.

He selected Richard Brook himself. Well, himself. Agents. Mr. Brook had debts.

Sherlock gave John all the warning there was. That he wasn't a hero.

Had John tenderly kidnapped. Faced down the villain together. Stripped John of his explosives and felt something. That night as John's crumbling heterosexuality gave way, Sherlock thought, "I need you to see me!"

He'd have to prepare John delicately. For a life on the run. Escalating crimes.

They'd be seeing more of Richard Brook.


	142. Ribbons for Kittens

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The actor John's hired to play himself had overdone the gay evil mastermind thing. After all, the actual mastermind was omnisexual. Had no problems getting his hands dirty. It just had to be worth the effort.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trope: Another character is actually Moriarty. In this case, John.  
> Warning: Dark John. Evil plans. A kiss.

Sometimes as John watched Sherlock run in circles over Moriarty, John felt the most perfect benevolence for his consulting detective. Oh, he growled and talked about human lives, but Sherlock's focus was utterly charming.

At least Sherlock wasn't bored.

John wasn't bored.

Oh, the actor he'd hired to play himself had overdone the gay evil mastermind thing. After all, the actual mastermind was omnisexual. Had no problems getting his hands dirty. It just had to be worth the effort.

The delicious thrill of Sherlock's heartbroken expression when for just that moment, he thought John might be Moriarty. Only to give him faith back again.

It had made the risk of having Stamford introduce them worth it. They had actually gone to school together. His one degree of separation from Sherlock. Other than the obvious one.

What was life without risk? With introducing the Woman to their mix. John almost had her shot at least three times and one bout of botulism in her tea. Almost.

Sherlock fell curled into John on the sofa. Mind exhausted. Never been kissed and yet lips opening to John like a Venus flytrap. Devouring.

All the sweeter to set the Fall in motion. Confronting Richard Brook. Knowing the man was about to be given a choice.

All ribbons for the kitten. A consulting detective to beguile.


	143. Something like the Dread Pirate Roberts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock wasn't the first Moriarty. 
> 
> John wasn't the first Moriarty. 
> 
> Actually, no one was the first Moriarty. But really, what to do when there were two of them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trope: Someone else is Moriarty. In this case, both John and Sherlock.  
> Warning: John's dark. Sherlock's dark. They message each other on the darkweb.

Sherlock wasn't the first Moriarty. That title had been created by an avuncular professor. He'd approached Sherlock snarling in the lab over idiocy. Offered him the abstruse and bizarre. Sherlock went by Rarityom in his correspondences with the other one. Like Charlemagne, the first Moriarty divided his kingdom.

John wasn't the first Moriarty. A former commander had created the job. Made the offer while John was bored out of his skull in Myanmar. He went by Armyriot with the other one. His mobile played "Dirty Deeds" when a message filtered in over the darkweb. Stroked the glass with a finger.

They could have gone to war to have it all.

John thought about it when Rarityom went off the WTF rails, but it was half the charm.

Sherlock thought about it when Armyriot was dull. When everything was boring. Planned it. Plastered his wall with plans. Destroyed the plans. Lay sprawled on his sofa. Sulked. Was distracted when Armyriot had a cabby serial suicide random strangers. A magic trick distracting from several operations.

Sherlock was beguiled. Charmed. They began a little game. Untangling each other's knots.

Though when Sherlock had Armyriot kidnapped, taken to the scene of Sherlock's first murder, and found he'd hidden rigged the building with explosives, took a blistering kiss, Sherlock had to admit that he was besotted.


	144. Cell Block 8 at Baskerville Prison

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Something was coming. Whole prison felt it. 
> 
> John had been to war. Spent a year or so in prison. He knew an east wind in his face. 
> 
> New prisoner walked up to John. Made John an offer he liked. Liked a lot.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First of all, I'm not 3/4 of the way to my goal of 221. Um... there are about 30 of these I'm parsing out to post.  
> The only reason I haven't updated the chapter numbers to 221 is pure paranoia. That said, if you're reading this real time and you're thinking, but your favorite trope hasn't come up yet, now's the time to comment. 
> 
> Trope: [Prison!John's](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Prison_AU) the old hand. Sherlock the new prisoner on the block.  
> Warning: M/M blowjob in exchange for protection in prison. What prison terms and pejorative use of the word bitch you get from an online dictionary.
> 
> Followed up in next chapter.

John banged weights in the prison yard. Watching. Waiting. Something was coming. Whole prison knew. Dozen birds transferred. No warning.

Screws shoved the new meat into the yard. Most sorted quick.

Only a tall pretty newb stood alone. Eyes passing over the gangs of the yard. Looking.

Best find it fast. Pretty new meat. Old birds circling.

Newb walked up to John. Said in a deep in his boots voice, "I'm applying to be your bitchboy."

John lowered the weights. "Why?"

Newb sighed, indicating just how much trouble he'd be. "I read about your trial. War veteran. Doctor. Interesting skills. Eight prisoners' postures indicating recent demonstrations." He bent forward evocatively. "I'm applying to be your bitchboy in exchange for protection."

John blinked. Walked to the loo.

Newb's interview was… impressive. On his knees. Lips wrapped around John's cock. Licking. Humming. Sucking.

Explosive.

Newb wiped his mouth. Unruffled.

John wanted to ruffle him. "You're hired."

"Your cellmate's already been moved. I'll be moving in."

"Don't even know your name."

"Sherlock Holmes. I possibly should have mentioned first that I'm going to need quite a lot of protection. I was a consulting detective before I was framed by my arch enemy as a fraud. Thus I interviewed first."

John grinned. At least he wouldn't be bored for three life terms of doing bird.


	145. Doing Hard Time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It was entirely Mycroft's fault this had happened. That he'd fed Moriarty bits of information about Sherlock. Enabling him to frame Sherlock as a fraud. Creating the crimes he solves.
> 
> Sherlock had a plan. Buying protection couldn't be that different from exchanging sexual favours for cocaine.
> 
> On reviewing the files, one prisoner had stood out. Doctor John Watson.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trope: [Prison! John](Doing%20Hard%20Time) is the old hand. Sherlock the new prisoner. Sherlock's pov.  
> Warning: M/M oral and implied anal sex in exchange for protection in prison. Also, John being a BAMF. Also, a certain amount of blatant ripping off of the Punisher's backstory from the new Daredevil for John's reason for being in prison. Like I said, BAMF.
> 
> Follows up on previous chapter.

"You fed Moriarty my information. You have to fix this."

"Working on it, brother mine." Mycroft smiled thinly. "In the meantime, I've transferred all prisoners related to any of your cases." He didn’t say that Sherlock would be in prison for manufacturing cases. For kidnapping children.

Sherlock reviewed the files on the other prisoners. He had a plan. It couldn't be that different from exchanging sexual favours for cocaine.

One prisoner had stood out. Doctor John Watson. Special forces training. Medical training. Wife and child killed in a three way gang fight over drugs. After recovering from being shot in the head, Watson had tracked down and killed everyone responsible. Extremely prejudicially.

The initial approach went well. A blowjob. Watson appeared dazed. An hour later, Watson looked crazed in the showers breaking Bushell Bob's arm, three men unconscious, growling, "No one touches my bitch!"

Sherlock felt…  John's expression was just as wild that night in their cell. Muffled sounds carrying through bars. Sherlock hadn't anticipated… he… pleasure was… John held him as he shivered in reaction afterwards. Tucked him in. 

Sherlock was assigned to the library. Mycroft's doing.

He was attacked eight times in eight days. Moriarty's.

He was alive, somewhat his own doing. Mostly John's.

He escaped on the ninth day. He took John. He'd be lost without his BAMF.


	146. Space Rock

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> One cycle, John was a biotech officer for the Terran Empire's army. Next he was a murderer. Mind, there wasn't much difference. 
> 
> Had to make his choices wisely who allied with in prison. 
> 
> Or do whatever.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trope: [Prison! ](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Prison_AU)Also, Space! So, space prison!  
> Warning: M/M anal sex. The level of prison lingo you get from an internet page.  
> Follows in the next chapter.

John listened to the Mechjudge deliver his sentence. Last cycle, he'd been a soldier, biotech class, for the Terran Empire. Now he was a murderer.

Admittedly, the two weren't mutually exclusive.

But the Corp hadn't even sent a Defence Droid. Tossed him for political expediency.

John shook as he came off the drugs Terran soldiers were given. Was still shaking when the droids hosed him down, issued him feltware and dropped him in the asteroid that was Biral Prison. He spotted some Terrans clustered on the second level.

"I wouldn't," said a deep voice.

John turned. A human sat in the opening of a stone cell. Space born based on his height. Modified eyes for the dark.

"Magnussen will use you for leverage."

John kept his gaze steady. "Doesn't everyone."

"Ah," the man stood up, "but Magnussen uses his boys for favours," stepped further into his cell's shadows, "while I am much more selective."

John considered his options. There was a contingent of Huggoth on the third deck. Given the Battle of Maiwand, he ought to join the largest group of Terrans.

"Not going to be your bitchboy."

"Don't be boring."

John stepped into the shadows.

Hadn't expected Sherlock to have him steal a mech arm. Save him from some Huggoths. Rock inside him until all John could do was babble.


	147. Birds of a Feather

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock's race had a certain gift for death. Possibly why he was the last of his race. In prison. Plotting his exit.
> 
> He hadn't intended on taking up with a Terran prisoner.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trope: [Space!](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Prison_AU) Prison! Prison in space. Follows on the previous chapter.  
> Warning: Sherlock BAMFing. John appreciating BAMFing. Expressing appreciation. Also, you know, prison.

Sherlock had certain privileges in Biral Prison.

This wasn't to say that he intended on staying in Biral. (He hadn't intended to be caught.) He hadn't actually intended on taking up a Terran officer.

At first he only said something to prevent Magnussen from getting his claws into such a magnificent new tool. Solider with tech specializations! He may have exaggerated the uses Magnussen would have made of him.

Sherlock was a sociopath. He killed beings. He lied. He was not a hero. Had John steal a metal arm, which Sherlock did not need. John did a terrible job. Looked so charmingly irritable that Sherlock invented several uses for it right then.

Was in the midst of showing off all the things he could do when five Huggoth interrupted them!

"I was talking to John." He broke the first Huggoth's wings with a metal humerus. "I was showing him how clever I can be." Stabbed the second Huggoth (weak mandibles) with an ulna. Cracked the chiton of the third with a blow (Sherlock's race had a gift for death). "Now he'll think," he broke the fifth's lower legs, "I'm nothing but a thug."

Stood there fuming when John kissed him.

He hadn't planned on taking John when he left. He'd move faster without him. But he'd be lost without his biotech.


	148. If Londinium Falls

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock could have left Britannia with Mycroft. Gone to Gaul before the Germanians pushed further into Romano Celtic lands.
> 
> But he'd leave Londinium when he was dragged from it.
> 
> Fortuna laughs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trope: [Slave](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Slavefic) fic. Sherlock is the slave. John(Johan) the owner. [Episotolary.](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Epistolary_Fic)  
> Warning: Not yet. In the next chapter. Other than slavery post Anglo Saxon invasion of Britannia.  
> 1 of 2.

Mycroft wrote to the Roman Consul in Gaul that if they do not soon send aid, we of Britannia can only choose between death by Germanian swords or death in the sea.

We have already discussed the third option. Flight to Gaul.

I will leave Londinium when I am dragged from it.

 

A fairly typical response from Fortuna for my previous entry.

I was working on an agent that will identify poison in blood when my home was invaded. I demanded that the Saxon let me finish. Somewhat astonishingly he did so.

He introduced himself as Johan Wat's son in the service of Abrecan.

 

Last entry. I am now a slave of Abrecan.

 

Johan brought me paper from a Roman ship that he raided.

He called me pretty in very poor Latin, which I corrected. Also, responded in Germanian that while I am flattered by his attention, I am uninterested in sex.

Johan called me clever for learning his language.

 

Clearly, I'm using the paper.

 

Johan brought me a mystery.

The petty theft of King Aethelstan's prized white stallion.

Solved it sunburned. Working in a field. With blisters.

Johan's praise was pleasing.

Irrelevant.

He's still a barbarian.

 

Johan purchased me with the reward for the stallion.

Fortuna laughs at me.  

Johan asked if I'd rather be working in a field.

Barbarian.


	149. Barbarian!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And the adventures of Sherlock and his Germanian master, Johan, continue in epistolary form.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trope: [Slave](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Slavefic) fic. Sherlock is the slave. John(Johan) the owner. [Episotolary.](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Epistolary_Fic)  
> [ Sharing a bed for warmth.](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Huddling_for_Warmth)  
> Follows from previous chapter.  
> Warning: M/M wanking in front of each other, intercurral sex, blowjob, anal sex.  
> The runes are from http://www.vikingrune.com/rune-converter/  
> Mind you, this would be a bit early for Anglo Saxon writing.  
> Loaf Maiden eventually comes to mean Lady. Basically, the very important job of making sure the bread gets made. A Baker. Not much of a street though.

Johan's taking me to a monster haunted mead hall.

Fabulous.

I am still the slave of a barbarian.

 

Last night was very cold. Johan ordered me to share his bedroll.

 

Johan often wakes aroused. He relieves himself in front of me.

I don't watch.

 

The mead hall monster was King Beorick. His lead torque brought on a berserker rage. Idiot.

Johan defended me from King Beorick.

He was not unimpressive.

 

It grows warmer. We continue to share a bedroll.

For warmth.

 

Although, I am the taller of the two of us, Johan sleeps behind me. As protection from wolves.

 

Have decided that Johan will be in a better mood if on waking he eases his arousal between my thighs. I find this very boring.

 

I am not loud, no matter what anyone says, when Johan pretends to be a serpent consuming my phallus.

 

Must determine if bear or venison grease have better viscosity.

 

Johan is hateful.

He spent an hour speaking with a Loaf Maiden about bread while I was waiting patiently at the mead hall.

 

The Loaf Maiden is a grandmother with a mystery about missing cattle. Johan is still a hateful barbarian. It's not as if he can read and write.

 

*

 

When we couple, Johan likes it when I call him my barbarian.

 

*Johan Wat's son loves Sherlock.


	150. Beware the Ides of March

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon was only a slave in the house of Master Brutus of Rome. 
> 
> Why their new dictator's cousin should know so much about him, he didn't know.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trope: [Historical fusion.](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Historical_AU)[ Epistolary.](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Epistolary_Fic) [Slave fic.](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Slavefic)  
> Warning: Julius Caesar lives. This is largely irrelevant. 1 of 3 chapters.

Master Brutus had an unexpected visitor this night, Holmia Serloc, our dictator's cousin.

Holmia knew all manner of hidden things. He knew my history. An unsettling amount about my first master, who favored Greek ideas.

Mistress Portia had me whipped for spilling Master Holmia's wine.

~~~

I found Master Holmia searching our midden.

Calm as anything, he asked me to bring Master Brutus' copy of Zeno.

I said he'd do better looking at Cato the Younger if he wanted to understand Master Brutus' mind. This set off him off like a firebrand on a dog's tail.

~~~

Soldiers woke the household.  

Master Brutus shouted that all was known.

He had me help him commit suicide. Mistress Portia committed suicide without help.

At least a dozen great men of Rome have committed suicide. Conspirators in a murderous plot to kill Caesar exposed by my new master, Holmia Serloc.

> (I've just found this journal. You left out the most essential part. The analytical reasoning I used to uncover the plot. For that matter, you played some small part in identifying the book used for the cipher I found in the rubbish. A cipher you didn't even mention.)

~~~

I think my new master might be mad. Imperious. Pompous. He is not safe.  

> (Jon, you do understand I'm reading this.)

~~~

Strangely charming.

                (Faint praise.)

~~~

Utterly brilliant.

                (Better)


	151. The Greek Interpreted

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trope: [Historical fusion.](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Historical_AU)[ Epistolary.](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Epistolary_Fic) [Slave fic.](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Slavefic)  
> ACD Greek Interpreter and for that matter John Watson's blog.  
> Warning: Well, it's slave fic. John has to rub lotion on Sherlock for reasons.

Melas of Athens, a scribe, came to see Master Holmia on a matter of some delicacy. He has begun to see portents of Kratides, he whose name must not be mentioned.

Master Holmia suggested that perhaps he should visit the Vestal virgins rather than visiting an Aesthetic philosopher.

> (It was the reasonable suggestion, and you call me mad, where my perception is merely the insight of the sighted man in the land of the blind. I'll grant that you have perhaps one eye.)

However, Melas had seen Kore disposing of a box in New Cross way. Sirens alighting in Wanded plaza. Brought a glowing stone he'd pried from the Apian way.

Master Holmia became quite excited and is examining the stone.

> (It's fascinating! Though grounded in the natural world.)

~~~

It was all a ruse to cast doubt upon the Parthian campaign by those who knew many speak with Melas about the Eleusinian mysteries.

Master Holmia had us dress as shades. Dabbed us with glowing jelly fish. We confronted the false Kratides and revealed all. It was amazing.

Although, Master Holmia applied too much. It was necessary to bathe him to ease the sting.

> (I was on fire! You must apply the lotion on for several more weeks.)

~~~

I have met Master Holmia's older brother.

> (I would be lost without my biographer.)


	152. The Mystery of the Tillia Briggs

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Can Jon and his master Serloc survive a pleasure cruise on the Tilia Briggia?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trope: [Historical fusion.](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Historical_AU)[ Epistolary.](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Epistolary_Fic) [Slave fic.](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Slavefic).Some bits taken / morphed from John Watson's blog.  
> Warning: Implied sexual relations between a master and slave. 
> 
> Erastes and Eromenos are the Greek terms for the male/male relations between an older lover and a teens to young man. More historical stuff that I'm going to go into in a note, but the key thing is the Tes in Erastes is about Agency. Which is seemed apropos in a slave fic. 3 of 3.

A patron of Master Holmia has offered him a month on his pleasure barge, Tilia Briggia. We depart malarial Rome for a cool lake tomorrow. Some warning would have been pleasant.

> (Not my fault you don't listen when you're not here.)

~~~

It was very warm today. Master Holmia suggested we swim naked, but since I cannot swim, I dangled feet and watched.

> (We're not in Rome. I've commanded you to call me Serloc multiple times. You were even there.)

~~~

Master Holmia brought up my first Master's Greek inclinations in front of Captain Basil. He has a child's understanding. No. He has a master's.

> (Astronomy again?)

~~~

The Tes in Erastes means one of the lovers has agency. Which the Eromenos does not have. All love is not equal.

> (Ridiculous.)

~~~

A roof tile almost fell on Captain Basil. I found only small paw prints. Strangely Master Holmia seems obsessed with having me feed him grapes.

~~~

Praise Neptune Serloc can swim. He saved my life when the boat went down. He explained that one of the sailors was attempting to kill Captain Basil in revenge for a dishonor to his sister.

> (I don't know what I would have done if you'd died in that lake. When I called you my Eromenos, I mean as in the Greek, beloved.)
> 
> (Ah, you used my name.)

~~~

Beloved.


	153. It's the Love Boat

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The cruise was supposed to be John's honeymoon, which if Mary hadn't taken a runner a week before the wedding it might have been.
> 
> It was paid for. John went. 
> 
> Had forgotten that it was a Love themed cruise. Still, things worked out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trope: Fusion... the Love Boat!  
> Warning: One real drink (with modifications based on notes I made in our copy of a bartender's guide) and one made up drink. Also, adult language.

The cruise was supposed to be John's honeymoon.

Mary took a runner a week before the wedding.

John spent that week ducking calls from friends in Glasgow where he'd lived since he'd left the army. Looked at the flat they'd had shared, and thought, fuck it.

Almost left the moment he stepped on the pink deck of the Tilly Briggs. Cruise director letting everyone know that the Tilly Briggs was known as the Love Boat, and be sure to get today's specialty drink.

John grimly went to the bar.

"You won't like it," said the bartender.

"And what would I like," John glanced at his nametag, "Sherlock." Ready to leave right then.

"Glasgow doctor. Military background. Alone in the honeymoon suite. I prescribe a Flying Scot with blood orange bitters, and," Sherlock mixed in something from a nondescript jar, "five spice syrup."

John dubiously took the glass.

It was perfect. Utterly perfect. Savoured.

Heard, "I'd be interesting in seeing the balcony of your suite."

Thought, "Fuck it."

As it happened, Sherlock did want to see the balcony. Also, somewhat dangerously climb down it into the room below. Foiled a smuggling ring. Almost blew up the engine.

Didn't.

Seemed Sherlock wasn't always a bartender.

Though after the case he was perfectly willing to mix up some glasses of Sex on the Balcony.


	154. Come Aboard the Love Boat

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mike Stamford was certain the Tilly Briggs, the cruise ship where he worked as Cruise Director had something odd going on. 
> 
> It was only a four. 
> 
> Sherlock had just blown up his flat on Montague Street. He went undercover and met someone exciting and new, which he wasn't expecting.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trope: Fusion with... the Love Boat. Sherlock's pov of previous chapter.  
> Warning: M/M sex on a balcony.

Mike Stamford was certain the cruise ship where he worked as Cruise Director had something odd going on. "Same people keep taking the cruise. Fine. It's billed as a Love Boat. But people don't look at people they," he wiggled his fingers, "with on the last cruise as if they don't know them."

It was only a four. Sherlock had just blown up his flat on Montague Street.

He went undercover as a bartender.

He could simply have broken into the cabin below John's. Found himself inviting himself over. Climbing over John's balcony.

John followed. There was a very impressive array of alcoholic beverages smuggled inside shoes, but nothing more ominous. Sherlock might have dismissed them, but John's comment, "Too bad they couldn't just drink the Duty Free," put a new light on the matter.

Kissing John hadn't been planned. Sherlock covered by running out of the room.

The four was a seven. Drugs suspended in Duty Free liquor. Diamonds hidden in cheap dolls. Nearly dying in the engine room. John saving him.

Being brilliant.

After it was solved, Sherlock mixed them drinks on John's balcony. Sherlock hadn't intended on chasing the taste of scotch on John's tongue. Rocking against John on the rail to the sound of waves. The honeymoon suite was well used by the doctor and his bartender.


	155. A Completely Irrelevant Secret

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There was no need to tell Sherlock about his little secret. Mycroft probably knew, which would... but it was never going to happen. Not important. Sherlock absolutely did not need to know that John was sixteenth in line for a tiny, insignificant European nation.
> 
> Ooops.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trope: [](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Royalty_AU'>Secretly%20royal.</a>%20John's%20in%20line%20for%20a%20throne!<br%20/>%0AWarning:%20References%20to%20M/M%20sex%20and%20Secrit%20keeping.<br%20/>%0AFollowed%20in%20the%20next%20chapter.)

John had a secret that was irrelevant anyway.

For Christ's sake, his father was from Carlisle.

There were sixteen reasons it didn't matter.

He'd only spent that one summer at his grandparent's… his mind shied from the word palace.

He was British. Sherlock had stolen one of the Queen's ashtray's for him. That was proper royalty.

There was no reason to tell Sherlock.

Not when they fell into, at, on each other after that case in Sussex. Not when it became a regular thing. Not when, John's conscience gibbered, Sherlock crowded him against a wall. Said, "Marry me so everyone knows that you belong to me."

Mycroft sent pointed congratulation.

It went to shite the day John came home to find Sherlock glaring at Mycroft and… Count Arnaud, the Beralian Ambassador, who horrifyingly bowed to John, "Your Majesty, I regret to inform you that,"

Sherlock straightened.

John said, "But I'm not even…"

Mycroft said, "I'll cut through the litany. While you've been ignoring the matter, the sixteen people in front of you in line for the throne of Beralia have been disinherited or died."

Count Arnaud said, "Your Majesty, you are our new king."

Sherlock bounced in his chair. "Someone is killing heirs to the throne."

Mycroft's smile gleamed, "You miss the point, brother dear. You're the new Queen of Beralia."


	156. The Adventures of the Queen of Beralia

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock absolutely insisted that John couldn't keep such a splendid series of murders from him.
> 
> Even if they did come with a small country attached.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trope: [](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Royalty_AU'>Secretly%20royal.</a>.%20%20John's%20royal%20and%20by%20marriage,%20now%20so%20is%20Sherlock!<br%20/>%0AWarning:%20References%20to%20M/M%20orgasms%20on%20surfaces.)

Sherlock studied John.

John had studied two years of French in school, but no further. Knew a few words of Pashto. Had a trace of lowland Scots in his fricatives. He joined the British Army. He'd fought for Britain. He treasured the Palace ashtray that Sherlock stole for him.

Conclusion: John was thoroughly British (Sherlock had other evidence).

It was galling to have Mycroft (Mycroft!) be the one to tell Sherlock that he'd missed something. Though, not deducing that John (John!) was secretly sixteenth in line to rule a European nation the size of London was not an obvious conclusion (future study!).

Conversely, John was sixteenth in line for a very pretty string of murders.

Sherlock wouldn't let John abdicated a case as lovely as an eight. Murders in locked rooms (Secret passages!). Hidden rooms (with hidden traps!). Illegitimate children (not the murderer). Quadriplegic nun with scuff marks on her shoes and an unworn rosary (the murderer!).

Also, dressing in matching red and gold braid festooned uniforms for the coronation. Plotting intercourse on the throne. Dungeon. Secret passage. Achieving multiple orgasms at all of the plotted locations. Verified that location was irrelevant. John was the key.

With a sigh, allowing John to abdicate to make way for a young woman who was actually from (already deleted name) country.

John was British.


	157. The Prince and Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock enjoyed being shipped off to America to save the antiques in the family palace from the consequences of boredom. His roommate was a wonderful new acquisition.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trope: [Secretly Royal](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Royalty_AU)  
> Warning: Nothing to say.

The Palace was dull. Boring.

Boredom had consequences. Mostly to the structural integrity of rooms full of antiques.

Which was why Mummy had Sherlock packed off, incognito (he liked that) to America. University of South Dakota more specifically, because, "No one will expect a Prince of Birlästad in South Dakota. Minnesota perhaps, but not the Dakotas."

Sherlock decided to be British. Sherlock created a full background. Appeared at the dorms valet less, guard less.

He looked at his roommate. His shoes. His hair. His skin tone. "You're from London on a scholarship to study veterinary medicine."

John said, "What? How did you?" A brilliant smile. "That's fantastic."

Sherlock immediately decided that John was his personal property. John was so ordinary and calm, but really was a seething mad rush.

He had lovely hands. Tapered. Elegant. Wrapped around a beer. Pointing. Punching a man, who took offense at Sherlock. Applying an ice pack to Sherlock's eye. Tracing cheekbones. Holding Sherlock's face as they kissed. Holding Sherlock as he fell apart. Pulled him apart. Put him back together. His lips were quite nice too. All of John was lovely. Sherlock's to experiment with. Sherlock experimented.

They didn't make it to classes the next day.

Which was and wasn't fortunate. Since they did make the papers (those still existed?).

"Birlästad Prince in Barroom Brawl."


	158. Me and the Prince

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trope: [Secretly royalty](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Royalty_AU). Sherlock's a prince. Continues from previous chapter in John's pov.  
> Warning: Not much to warn about. Sherlock's lying royalty revealed!

Sherlock was a Prince! John just. He… He'd told John he was from Sussex. He'd talked about the time he'd been trapped by a cow herd on a stile. It had been an adorable story.

The image of a curly haired tot stuck on a wooden stile had made him want to rush back in time.

Had been planning how they'd live together in London. Had been thinking… Sherlock was a prince. Everything was a lie.

"Everything is not a lie. I was trapped by a herd of cattle. I'd run off from,"

John hit the cheek that he'd caressed and tended. Was appalled. Was pissed. Stomped off. Wanted to go to complain to friends, but Sherlock had consumed the oxygen in that room. Crashed a party. Got pissed with strangers. Woke up feeling terrible.

Went back. Sherlock's things were gone.

He sat down on the empty bed. Felt a lump. Lifted the mattress. There was the plastic sword Sherlock had purchased John at that harvest festival, and a note. "They're kidnapping me home. Don't be an idiot. Rescue me."

Turned out Sherlock wasn't too hard to find. Nor rescue as his Mum (a Queen) had him hustled in from the gate. Shoved him at Sherlock, who was looking a bit singed.

This was why John finished his education in Birlästad.  


	159. Two Hearts -Technically Three - Beating as One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock only vaguely remembered his childhood, but he was certain it had happened.
> 
> It was very important Sherlock never open his watch. Just as it was important that he delete the solar system. But seriously, don't open the watch.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trope: Secretly a Time Lord. Sherlock.  
> Warning: Not much. Heck, even hiatuses are shortened.

Sherlock had a watch that it was absolutely vital he not show his brother. He kept it in a suit pocket. Where he kept it when he wore the sheet was a bit of a secret. Always had it with him. Never opened it.

Not when he confronted Moriarty by the pool. Not on the rooftop. Though, he did sometimes wonder just how he'd known how to build a gravity repulser with the contents of Molly's desk drawer. Wafting to the ground with the weight of a feather.

Unfortunately, he was still tied up when Mycroft came to rescue him in prison. Saw the moment his brother saw it. "Ah," said Mycroft. He said a word. Sherlock opened the watch.

The deleted became undeleted. Where a brother had been stood a very fussy Tardis.

Sherlock thought, "I could go back to John." Then he thought of something better.

He travelled back. Saw himself watching John by the grave. Waited until his earlier self left one of his hearts at the grave. Went to John, who hit him once. Hugged him. Laughed. Glared.

Sherlock snatched up his hands and held them to his chest. He said, "I just remembered, I'm not heartless. I have two hearts." Soaked in John's look of wonder.

In a minute, he'd explain for whom they were beating.


	160. Bag full of Porn or Something... She has a sense of Humor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John had a watch that he never opened. Something about the design had Sherlock returning it when he stole it.
> 
> The duffel where John kept his porn was theoretically less interesting. Some beings have a sense of humor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trope: Secretly a Time Lord. John.  
> Warning: Don't blink. Actually, blink just fine. The weeping angels are a a convention.

John had a mobile from his sister, who couldn't stay sober for her brother's wedding. Sherlock had never met her.

John still had a duffle bag from the army where he kept his pornography.

A watch from his father. John never opened it.

Naturally, Sherlock borrowed it. He examined it, still warm from John's body. Something about the design had him returning it when he stole it.

Other things took precedence.

Facing Magnussen. John brought the watch and his duffle.

"Pornography, John?"

"Ta."

Then the revelation, no vault. Just a man. Magnussen said, "With the Doctor, you'll,"

John interrupted, "I'm not the Doctor." Opened the watch. A flash. A sound. A scent. Also, Magnussen was now a lobster-man.

"I remember now." John blinked. "I've disabled your perception filter." Smiled.

Magnussen scuttled off.

John stepped into his duffle, seemingly climbing down stairs.

Sherlock considered these events. "You're an alien."

"I'm a Time Lord injured in the ah… I can explain later. But um… this is my… spaceship."

"The duffle where you store your pornography."

John rolled his eyes. "She has a sense of humour. So, um, want to go for a trip."

"What about the baby?"

"Probably not mine, but this is also a time machine. We'll just pop back in a few minutes."

John disappeared.

Sherlock followed John into the bag.


	161. TNR

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock went into the metal cage. 
> 
> There was a mystery. Mary's kittens by John, Sherlock and a third tom from outside their block were missing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trope: Humans as animals. In this case, everyone is a cat. Feral cats for that matter.  
> Warning: Well, given what's about to happen to the boys (read the wiki if you don't know what TNR is), you may or may not like this one. But they won't be interested in Mary's next heat.   
> https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Trap-neuter-return
> 
> Also, there's currently a feral cat questioning his life choices right now in my garage. So, must be off.

John yowled from the other side of the fence.

Sherlock ignored him. Mary's kittens by John, Sherlock and a third tom from outside their block were missing.

Sherlock followed their scent inside a wire box.

A metal plate fell. Sherlock scratched. Shoved. John helped, but it didn't give.

The Woman came out. "It's okay pretty one. Eat your dinner. Soon it'll be much better." She laid a blanket over the cage.

Sherlock immediately calmed, thinking. She left.

John leapt down, calico fur fluffy with concern. Waited by the cage all night.

In the morning, the Woman came out. She transported Sherlock to a White room.

Sherlock hissed.

A man, Moriarty, said, "Hey, cutie." The trap opened. Sherlock bolted.

Into a smaller box.

He suffered… indignities.

John was brought in a day later. Similarly suffering. But the mystery of the kittens was solved. Sherlock saw them. Fed. Cared for. Playing with yarn dangled by Moriarty.

The Woman took them back to the yard babbling about dinner.

Sherlock refused. John ate the kibble.

Inexplicably, the Woman released them from her trap.

Even stranger, Mary went into heat three yards over. Neither John and Sherlock found themselves particularly interested. Remained in their hollow behind a gazebo grooming each other.

So, all in all, an improvement. Though, they both agreed to stay away from boxes.


	162. Ought to Have Been

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock ought to have been a great wing woman, but seriously, Jane was not getting any when Sherlock went with her to the pub.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trope: It's not just a rule, it's a law. Well... they are both women.  
> Warning: Language and dildos.

Sherlock ought to have been an excellent wing woman. The operative word being ought to have been.

She might not be interested in cock, but no reason Sherlock shouldn't have been able to watch Jane's drink, point out the married-gay-wanker-serial-killers so Jane could get some.

According to Sherlock, every bloke in every pub ever was married, gay, a perv or in one case a serial killer.

At least, Jane got to get some aggression out by pistol whipping him when Sherlock's plan to lure him to a quiet alley worked a little too well.

Leaving Sherlock behind wasn't on either. Jane had no intention of being chatted up by every rejected shirtwaist who plumped up to the bar and wanted to talk about his tragic singleton life.

"The problem is you smile and nod as if you actually care."

Jane had to admit, Sherlock's habit of verbally eviscerating anyone who approached was effective. The problem being she also eviscerated Jane's share of the dating sea.

Which led to the current awkward situation of Jane finding comfort with her dildo and Sherlock barging in because she needed Jane to explode a watermelon. They froze.

Sherlock sat next to the bed to ramble. Jane decided, "Fuck it." Involved Sherlock with her focus. Things slotted into how they always ought to have been.


	163. Rule 63 or was that 69

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jane Watson did not have a chip on her shoulder. The world was busted and she got fragments on the shoulder of her coat from punching it. 
> 
> Sherlock got that. He got her. 
> 
> But they weren't dating. The man was an octopus and a girl needed her sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trope: John's a woman named Jane. Hmmm... by this point Joan is permanently on Elementary.  
> Warning: M/F vaginal sex. Pregnancy.  
> Follows in the next chapter.

Jane didn't have a chip on her shoulder. She busted her arse in medical school and Basic. Bastards and a bullet cracking her life.

She did not have a chip.

Sherlock got that. He had her chasing killers in sewers. Ghost dogs on the moors. Was absolutely insane. Amazing.

The sex was fucking fantastic.

Unexpected given his whole, "Not my area," response to sexual relationships.

But when he kept looming out of nowhere at the pub, she'd explained that he could either back off or help out.

He'd minced around like an angry cat for a week. Flounced while she got ready to leave in her get lucky dress. She hadn't made it out that night. He loomed. She climbed him like a tree. He fucked her through the door.

They weren't dating. That would have been a disaster. Anyway, the man was an octopus and she needed space to sleep.

It was only after cases. Or when Sherlock was extremely bored. Or she'd talked with someone at the pub.

Course, then life had to punch her in the ovaries.

On the run. Slowly showing with lips and body that she was with him. Until she wasn't. Until Moriarty. The fall. She hadn't taken a Day After pill.

Grief and nausea. Dully peed on the stick. Stared at the plus.

Busted.


	164. Or was it 32

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock did not interrupt Jane's every date.
> 
> Moriarty was the one who interrupted perfectly good things.
> 
> Or... a great hiatus cut short.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trope: John's a woman. Sherlock's POV. Follows from previous chapter.  
> Warning: M/F vaginal sex. Also, pregnancy.

Sherlock did not interrupt Jane's every date. Her suggestion that he be the one to, "fuck off or sand my itch," was absurd.

He had difficulty thinking of anything else. Sanding. Grinding.

Even when on the simply marvelous case involving twins and a snake as murder weapon, he would find himself skipping tracks.

When the case was solved, he predicted that Jane would run up the stairs two at a time. Not to stay in. But to go out. Sand.

He didn't predict his reaction. Crowding her against the door. Grinding. The rip and tear of paper. The roll of a condom. A gasp. The rattle of the door. Pounding in.

Things escalated after that.

Unfortunately, Moriarty also escalated. Sherlock descalated with a fall. Determined to root out Moriarty's web so he could go home.

Mycroft called him in Croatia. "You should return home," without a word, the git, as to why.

Sherlock lurked homeless outside 221b. Stood up, forgetting disguise, when Jane approached the door.

His first word were, "You…" She punched him. "

She said, "Your Mother told me after I told her," she waved at the mound of her belly. "You are an utter prick." She went in. Glared back at him. "Come on. I've got ultrasounds."

He followed and went to look at pictures of their baby.


	165. Sherlock is a Woman's Name

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock was an excellent detective. 
> 
> But clients were under the unfortunate delusion that the ability to think, detect, observe, function was based on externalized genitalia. So, she made up an employer, Remington Steele. A name evocative of guns and external genitalia with great tensile strength.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trope: Sherlock's always been a woman. Also, fusion with Remington Steele.  
> Warning: References to M/F sex, but this is the 80s. More fading to black. Also, pregnancy.

When Sherlock set up her consulting detective agency, she came to the unfortunate realization that clients were under the misapprehension that detection was based on externalized genitalia.

Her mind was an engine tearing apart without cases.

She did the logical thing. She made up an employer, Remington Steele. A name evocative of guns and tensile strong balls.

At first, it worked beautifully. She'd pull on a sycophantic smile. Explain that her employer was on a separate case, but that she would pass on the information.

As the cases grew larger, clients wanted to meet Remington Steele.

Then came the day, when a client told her that he'd met her employer at a garden party. Intrigued, she tracked the pretender down.

He was quiet and unassuming. Nothing like the flashy image that she'd imagined. A con artist with scruples.

She made him an offer.

He countered.

They agreed.

It was fantastic. Christmas full of cases.

The coitus after was also excellent. Better than toys, if less convenient. Prone to wandering off. Becoming a target for master criminals.

Her own fault.

She looked down at the con on herself. Took a fall.

Though, two months into pursing Moriarty's organization, she had reason for regretting certain experiments with her birth control.

She glared at the plus sign on the stick.

She'd failed basic biology.


	166. Remington Wasn't Actually his Name

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John liked being Remington Steele. Other than Remington was basically Sherlock as a man, but he liked playing the role. But seriously, he was crap at the role with Sherlock to point him in directions. But he had to respect a good grift.
> 
> It was how he knew after Sherlock's fall that he was being conned.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trope: Sherlock is a Woman. Also, fusion with Remington Steele.  
> Follows from previous chapter.  
> Warning: Implied M/F vaginal sex what with a baby and all.

John liked being Remington Steele. He did. Remington was brilliant. John was crap at being Remington without Sherlock, but he had to respect the labor that she'd put into creating Remington.

Because if there was one thing he knew it was grifting.

He knew when he was being conned. The misdirect of the bicycle. The crowd. The closed casket. Sherlock's parents hadn't even come to the funeral.

Once he'd had a chance to parse it, everything was far too neat.

Molly cracked when he stoically drank coffee and broke down in tears in her office. "He did it to protect you. And Mrs. Hudson and Inspector Lestrade." She squeezed his hands as if to convince him.

"She did it because she didn't respect me."

He went to the South of France. Ran a con just to prove he could. He may have asked around when he fenced the item.

He intended the moment when he caught up with her to be Remington suave. He opened with, "Hello, love," as she walked briskly down the street in St. Petersburg. She turned around more like a whale than a cat.

He said, "We're, you're, I'm going to be a father."

"No," she sniffed, "I'm going to be a mother." Took his offered hand. "Fine. We're pursuing a crime syndicate and having a baby."


	167. LGBTQIA

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A pink and black meteor streaked across the sky. Followed by a rainbow meteor. A pink and lavender blue meteor. A blue, pink and white meteor. A purple, white and green meteor. A yellow and purple meteor. A black, grey and white purple meteor.
> 
> It was a meteor shower.
> 
> Depending on the meteor dust everyone in Britain and some parts of Brittany were now either Lesbian, Gay, Bisexual, Transexual, Queer, Intersex or Asexual.
> 
> John and Sherlock didn't notice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trope: [Woke up gay](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Woke_Up_Gay)  
> Warning: Given the word constraints, there are only three listed meteors in the meteor shower. Also, M/M love in a sofa fort.

The brilliant pink meteor streaked across the sky. A sparkly rainbow meteor. A purple meteor. It was a meteor shower. There were a lot of meteors.

Sherlock and John weren't looking.

Didn't know that depending on the meteor dust everyone in Britain and some parts of Brittany were now either Lesbian, Gay, Bisexual, Transexual, Queer, Intersex or Asexual.

In the morning, Mrs. Hudson came into the flat dressed completely in leather with a tea tray.

John gestured with a mug. "Why are you dressed like that?"

"Oh, haven't you heard?" Mrs. Hudson adjusted her leather hat. We're all gay now?"

"Wrong!" Sherlock burrowed into the sofa.

"Oh, dear, if I get that wrong." Mrs. Hudson implored John. "When I was stripping in Miami they said gay meant homosexuals." Tutted her way out of the flat.

A news story declared, "Queer Queen Nation!"

Sherlock curled tighter. "Wrong!" as each visitor descended.

Molly dragged in Sally. Primarily to gloat about their new relationship. Also, to drop off some toes. Lestrade came by to discuss her transition and have a mid-day pint with John.

Mycroft appeared. Not even remotely different.

John was happy to lock the door. Build a fort around Sherlock with some blankets. Make love. Sherlock whispered, "I was always gay."

John rubbed his nose against Sherlock's. "And I was always bisexual."


	168. Twenty Seven Percent Pillow Fort

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John wasn't sure why Sherlock had built a pillow fort.
> 
> He was soon to find out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trope: Established relationship. Also, an excuse for sex in a pillow fort.  
> Warning: Sadly most of the time is spent on the fort itself.

John emerged from their room to find that Sherlock had reconstructed the living room with a series of clothes racks and blankets. It was like something out of a Hollywood 1001 Nights fantasy. If in some cases plaid.

"Right." John ignored the inviting opening. He wasn't six.

John went to make tea.

Sherlock drifted into the kitchen wearing a sheet.

"Would have thought you'd need the sheet for the pillow fort."

"It's only twenty-seven percent pillows." Sherlock plucked up John's tea. His sheet slid back. Revealing a long line of pale flesh.

"Why a fort?"

"I was cold."

Didn't suggest Sherlock could have come back to bed. "You could try clothes."

"Boring."

Sherlock left with the tea.

John followed his tea.

Sherlock unknotted the sheet. Crawled in. John was treated to a view of Sherlock's everything.

John's tea was in there.

He took off his robe, but left the jim jams on. They had a perfectly nice bed.

He followed his tea.

John hadn't even known they owned one of those fake fur blankets. Soft plush.

Reclaimed his mug by touch in the dim light. Touched a few other things too.

"It's uh… warm in here."

Sherlock helpfully plucked at John's top. Bottoms.

It was a perfectly nice twenty-seven percent pillow fort.

They rocked against each other safe inside the blankets.


	169. His Magic wasn't in his Pinkie Finger

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Practically everyone had magic. Mostly idiotic abilities. Although, the sarcastic way Harry would trace rainbows in the air was amusing. 
> 
> It took John a long time to find out what Sherlock's magic body part was.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trope: Magical Healing Cock: Sherlock  
> Warning: Sherlock has a magic penis. Continues in next chapter.

Practically everyone had magic.

Some as little as a pinkie that could trace sparkle rainbows in the air. Hands that could burn. Feet that could run on water. Hair that foretold the future. The list went on.

There was that one percent that didn't.

Sherlock always said, "Most powers are irrelevant." He didn't appear to have any magic.

John's power was far sight. But as far as he was concerned, the only thing important was the man next to him.

Who all told was a bit of a dick.

What with pretending to be dead. Coming back just as John was asking Mary to marry him. Mary, who was a far seerer too. Perfect for him.

Married her, didn't he. Must have been perfect.

Except for the part when John came into Magnussen's office. The man dead on the floor. His wife holding the gun. She said, "John, stay back or I'll shoot."

John took that step. Got the promised bullet.

Sherlock said, "John, I…" Kissed him, which was an odd reaction.

John wasn't going to complain. Got enthusiastic for a man with a bullet wound. Turned out Sherlock had magic after all. A magic healing cock, which made even John's aching shoulder fade.

It was worth getting shot by his wife to finally see Sherlock. John even kept the bullet.


	170. A Trick of Magical Nature

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Magical Body parts were stupid.
> 
> Though, certain Sherlock's meant that Mummy won a great many prizes for her garden. Though none of it edible for reasons.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trope: Magical Healing cock  
> Warning: Well, Sherlock has a magic penis. Also, a slight joke at Mycroft's dietary expense.

Magical body parts were idiotic.

Mycroft displayed his ability at five. Green smoke farts that made people laugh like idiots. His diet was bland and balanced.

They discovered Sherlock's ability when his grandfather told him to, "Just wee in the garden."

The petunias won a prize that year. They were the sort of family that Mummy simply left a discrete watering can in the loo for Sherlock and they never grew anything edible in the garden. Mummy won a lot of prizes.

Sherlock didn't discover that the magic in his penis wasn't entirely fertilizer until college.

Victor.

Who went from an asthmatic with a gluten and lactose intolerance to a veritable Greek god stuffing vinegar chips in his face to… sex became awkward.

Sherlock resolved no more.

But there was John. Wounded in the war. His limp not entirely psychosomatic.

There was more than one reason he arranged for them to eat at Angelos. A trip to the loo. A wank. A brush of the hand.

A race across London. He was subtle in his applications. He loved John as he was. Didn't want…

But… Moriarty. The fall. Mary. The wedding. The gun shot in Magnussen's office.

Mary escaped as Sherlock came in.

He may have rushed their first time. As they gasped their finish, neither of them begrudged the bullet.


	171. John's Work Was Never Done

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Plenty of people came back changed from war. Generally that change wasn't the ability to heal with their genitalia. 
> 
> Sadly, John wasn't even the one to figure it out. Sherlock did. With charts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trope: Magical Healing Cock: John  
> Warning: John has a magic penis. Also, language inherent in the trope.

A lot of people came back from Afghanistan different. Most of them didn't come back with a magic healing cock, but…

Sarah getting over her jetlag in New Zealand wasn't a clue. Because really who thought, "My girl-friend's adjusting well to flying halfway round the world. Must be because we shagged the morning we got there."

The thing about having Sherlock chase off half of John's shags… err… girlfriend's  – and btw yes, he used condoms – was it did allow for a certain range of information. Jenna getting over her asthma. Kiley's shaving cuts on her legs clearing. Yamaya or was it Tilda, both actually, healing bruises he'd spent a fucking long time sucking onto their breasts.

Sadly, it was Sherlock who figured it out.

With charts.

John expected at that point to just end up wanking into a cup. Well, yes, he did wank into a cup for Sherlock and science. There were fruit flies to be saved after all.

It was just… Sherlock had fallen – jumped – into the Thames and was turning blue and would die if John didn't save him.

Sherlock had missed one of those leaps of his and broken an arm.

Sherlock sprained his ankle.

A slash across his chest.

A paper cut.

Sore fingers from playing violin.

A shoulder ache. 

John's work was never done, but…


	172. Walking a Mile in his Shoes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> One minute they were talking to the crazy Harder Garrideb, the only actual Garrideb, when John was in Sherlock's body. Not in a homosexual way. A body swap way.
> 
> Then well...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trope: Body Swapping. And possibly the vaguest of fusions with the show "Friday the 13".  
> Continues in the next chapter.  
> Warning: Wanking while in someone else's body, so is it wanking or a hand job? Also, shower sex implied.

Garrideb, the hoarder one, laughed manically when the old gramophone began to play. John was frankly more than a bit tired of the clients who turned out to be utterly bonkers.

Fred Astaire's scratchy voice warbled something about changing partners, when John found himself a good deal taller, standing on his own left and for fucks sake he was in Sherlock's body. He reached out to grab Hoarder Garrideb, but the wanker laughed his way out a trap door.

He looked at Sherlock. Himself.

Sherlock took a step forward. Stopped. "Ah, good to have a theory confirmed on why you walk the way you do."

"Oh, uh, yeah." John tried to think of an excuse to head to the loo to check out his own theories.

Gave up. It was entirely heterosexual and natural to spend their first few minutes body swapped examining certain aspects. Wanking was also completely heterosexual.

Playing the record again didn't do anything. Still they took the gramophone and record when they left.

Puttered. Found out that most food tasted like dishwater. He looked at Sherlock, himself, wonderingly eating peas. Had some honey toast. Ended up getting it places. Sherlock insisted on cleaning John in the shower. Naked. Which was… strange.

Not entirely heterosexual. But hard to have a fit when he was actually in Sherlock's body.


	173. A Walk on the B-Side

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The single Garrideb in the matter had a magic gramaphone, which was illogical, but true.
> 
> Sadly, Sherlock found himself literally in John's body, rather than in the way he'd often fantasized.
> 
> Still, as it led to events he'd often desired, it was well worth it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trope: Body swap. Continues from previous chapter.  
> Warning: M/M. Hand jobs. Shower sex. Oral sex. Language.

John's mind was so slow.

Sherlock felt like he could hardly think while inside John's body. Sadly, he was literally in John's body, rather than in the way he'd often fantasized.

All he could think as he stepped forward to catch the fleeing Garrideb was that John had good reason to strut. He didn't deny his own curiosity. John did the same in his own body, which was… interesting.

The greater realization was how delicious food could be in John's mouth. Groaning over peas. Beans. Far from disgusting so many foods were delicious. Became distracted with the way that John was getting honey all over Sherlock's clothes.

As good excuse as any to get himself into a shower. He assured John, "It is my body after all." He brushed every spot that he knew he enjoyed. Convinced John that it only made sense for them to give each other hand jobs. "It is your body after all."

John body came with his oral fixation. John didn't complain. Said something about dogs and moaned as Sherlock swallowed him down.

The shower curtain was destroyed.

As Sherlock dried John, himself, John said, "Hard to mind what's happened when it brought us this."

Actually tired for once, they went to bed.

In the morning, after a lazy fuck, John thought to play the B-side.


	174. Like Water for Chocolate... Or something British

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock was prepared to write the review for the restaurant before he went in. "Watson's Home Cooking".
> 
> Then he ate the food.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trope: A chef: John. Magical Realism.  
> Warning: Sherlock has a career where he eats food.

"Watson's Home Cooking." Sherlock sniffed. Was already composing the review as he went inside.

The place was empty. The decorations were tritely banal family pictures.

Harry, the hostess and waitress, was clearly one of the twin children from the photos.

Now an alcoholic. Unmistakable signs.

She didn't recognize him because no one knew what he looked like. He was always someone different when he reviewed a restaurant. Currently, he was an accountant from Leeds who had just had a fight with his wife.

The menu was boringly British. He ordered a stout, Scottish Eggs, and Shepherd's Pie.

His order was dropped on his plate with a clatter. A generic pint of bitter stout.

Sherlock picked up his fork and was awash with memories. Running through the woods with Redbeard. Flinging himself over ravines. A pirate ship. Endless summer with a Scottish egg wrapped in wax paper. Didn't even notice finishing.

Another plate.

Dug into Shepherd's Pie. It tasted of distant places and also home. Of Mummy pulling him into her arms. Rosemary and tender lamb under a wide open sky.

Tears burned down his cheeks as he scrapped the plate.

"Christ, another one!" Harry yelled back into the kitchen. "Johnny, you've gotta quit it!"

"Wrong." Sherlock thought of his Grandmere Vernet in Nice, dead these twenty years. "I want your Bouillabaisse."


	175. Cooking with Heart and Soul

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In Afghanistan, the men would talk about home cooking. John learned to cook with all his heart.
> 
> Making customers cry or laugh though, not ideal.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trope: Chef: John. With magical realism.  
> Warning: A kiss. Continues from previous chapter.

In Afghanistan, the men would talk about home cooking.

John didn't have that. It had been all microwaved dinners. But sitting there under the widest sky, listening to them talk, something opened.

Also, he taught himself to cook. Over a fire or Dutch oven. Ingredients more scrounged than recipe. Starlight and soul, he sometimes thought.

Saw health blooming in a boy's cheeks after a bowl of soup. Calm that came over a lad crackling down some Yorkshire pudding.

At loose ends after he was shot… Harry and he… opening a restaurant seemed a way to bring them together. Calling it "Watsons Home Cooking" was a joke. Hadn't realized that… well, making customers burst into tears or hysterically laugh… not great. But he didn't know any way to cook other than with everything in him. They had just enough customers to get by.

Quiet Wednesday. One customer. Scotch eggs, seemed like something for wild runs in the woods. Folded that into the dough. Shepherd's pie made him think of Afghanistan. Of women and men high in the hills. Of wide open skies.

The order for Bouillabaisse was… the sea. Rocky beaches and boats with their catch.

A man burst into the kitchen, such as it was. Grinning.

His heart… oh. He'd been cooking this.

They scorched a kiss. He made Crème Brule.


	176. Benedictine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock was interested in the science of cooking. His truck had a certain route.
> 
> He had a certain customer who was his favorite for experimentation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trope: Chefs: Sherlock.  
> Warning: Implied sex in a food truck. Also, highly caloric food.

Sherlock was interested in the science of cooking. Also, he enjoyed injecting CO2 into cherries. Flash freezing anything.

His gastronomic truck had a route of sorts.

He alighted at a street across from Barts. Set up his Mis. Vacuum chamber. Blowtorch.

Doctor Watson approached.

The first thing Sherlock had heard him say was, "Mike, I tried lamb stewed in a cow's udder. I'm up for anything." Sherlock had been testing that for the last month.

Sherlock never let him order.

Sherlock handed him an Octopop. Doctor Watson took it with a grin. Bit in and groaned. "Fantastic. It's..." He peered at the spherical shapes held together with orange and saffron gel on dill sticks. "Is this octopus?"

"You're learning my methods," said Sherlock. Was forced to snarl off an interloper with a blowtorch BLT. Ducked back into the truck for the second course.

Edible river stones arranged in a river of basil foam. Doctor Watson had to come into the truck to eat it.

By the Coagulate Egg for desert, they'd progressed to first names. Sherlock had been resting that egg all this last month in John's favourite brandy. He spooned it into a cup.

John's groan led to unsanitary conditions. Also, it tested the truck's shock absorbers.

In the morning, Sherlock deep fried hollandaise and vacuum cooked eggs for breakfast.


	177. Eggs Benedict

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John knew a dirty little secret.
> 
> Sherlock knew that John was a sorcerer who could make magic butter. 
> 
> Butter that made him do... things.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trope: Cooking.  
> Warning: Dubcon as a result of eating highly caloric food. Also, it is actually that easy to make Bearnaise. Not advisable all the time, but that easy. Also - strange transition - rimming, m/m anal sex.

John knew a dirty little secret. If the cup was of the correct size, making Béarnaise sauce was as simple as slowly adding the ingredients and applying a hand blender. True there was an entire stick of butter in there, but it wasn't hard.

He also knew that he if applied Béarnaise on toast, Sherlock would steal it.

That if Sherlock stole it…

 

Sherlock knew that John made magic butter. A startling conclusion, but having eliminated all other theories by process of elimination, magic was the only conclusion that remained. It was the only explanation for the groans that would emit from his mouth when eating a simple piece of toast. Why he was helpfulness to resist being plied with food as long as it came with that magical substance.

 

There was leftover champagne from Mike's anniversary party. After seeing a recipe, John poached a lobster. Two sticks of butter and a few spices.

 

John was a sorcerer. It could be only reason why Sherlock had to follow a bite of shrimp ravioli with the taste of John's mouth. His cock as hard as the scattered utensils. Wipe John down. Then slather John's anus with the magical elixir. Lap it up. Slick himself with the stuff. Push into what he'd licked.

 

Sore and satiated, John contemplated a recipe for Eggs Benedict.


	178. Mills and Boon: The Stuffing of Desire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John had abandoned his dreams
> 
> The accident had ended his hope of a career in the family biotech firm. So he couldn't understand why Father Stamford had practically forced him on Sherlock Holmes, the world famous Biotechnical artist.
> 
> "The best solution," Father Stamford told John, "is to bring you together and let him take care of you." John was sure Sherlock wouldn't want a protégée, particularly one with a limp.
> 
> Instead Sherlock made John an offer. Become his protégée and more!!!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trope: Harlequin plot/Mills and Boon. Description from "The Color of Desire."  
> Warning: Ridiculous, no seriously! Originally I had the career as a taxidermist, but I just... so you get this, and the original title.

The blond wonderingly gazed with virginal cerulean eyes at the empty office of billionaire Sherlock Holmes.

He was only here because his sister had been drinking away all the profits from the family biotechnical business. Now without a sudden and brutally large engorgement of funds, they'd be ruined.

Since the accident, what with the limp, no other company would take him. Could possibly want him. Use him.

John had no idea why Father Stamford had said, "The best solution is to bring you and Sherlock together and let him take care of you." John was sure Sherlock wouldn't want a protégée, particularly one with a limp.

The brunet billionaire strode in. "You should know that I'm only seeing you because Father…" he stopped. Consumed John with his azure, viridian, slate eyes.  

Mr. Holmes said, "Biology or chemistry?"

"Both," said John hesitantly.

"I'll save your family business, take you…as my protégée, on one condition." Mr. Holmes took John's hands. "You'll share my bed." He paused. "Where we'll have sex."

John trembled. He was a virgin. It was so sudden. "Oh, God, yes!" Unsure how long he'd be able to conceal that he'd always longed to be rigorously rodgered by the brilliant biotechnical billionaire.

"You said it out loud, so you won't be able to conceal it long at all," said the billionaire.


	179. Mills and Boon: Teach Me!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Whose teaching Whom?
> 
> John Watson saw no harm in giving his boss a few pointers on the art of courtship when he asked. After all, a man as brilliant as Mr. Holmes deserved love. But after a few "practice" dates, John began to notice how compelling attractive the man was. 
> 
> Soon he wished he was the object of this affections.
> 
> Sherlock Holmes was mad to think his handsome assistant would fall for him! But after several lessons with John, Sherlock decided to give him a few of his own. He planned to show John that he was the one man who wanted to stick around – for a lifetime course!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trope: Harlequin/Mills and Boon  
> Warning: Ridiculous! Still! Also, plot/description is from "Teach Me".

"Mr. Watson, can I see you in my office?" said Sherlock over the intercom.

It was now or never. Sherlock'd seen the swarms of athletes, movie stars, and astronauts, who were after John. Sherlock didn't stand a chance. But he'd put John's picture in his Wish book pasted onto the Vitruvian man. Watched "Last Holiday" every day for weeks.

"Hope there's nothing wrong, Boss."

As always the sight of John had a strong effect on Sherlock. "I wanted to request your assistance on an extra-curricular project, to which you are in no way required to say yes."

"What is it?"

"You have a certain skill with dating, which is not my area."

"No problem." John nodded. "I am a great wing man."

"No…" Sherlock chose his words carefully, "more basic than that. There's a friend of a friend that I would like to… woo."

"Oh," said John. "And you want me to teach you how to date."

"Yes!"

The first date was a success. They covered compliments. Flirting. Touching.

The second date was a success. They covered touching. Snuggling. Small gifts.

On the third date, John shoved Sherlock against a wall and said, "Whoever they are, they can't possibly love you as much as I do."

"It's you!" blurted Sherlock.

"Oh!"

They broke Sherlock's virginity.

Ate breakfast from the same bowl.


	180. Mills and Boon: The Lord's Idiotic Boy, or don't mess with Monkey's Paws

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John couldn't believe that he was seeing Sherlock again after all these years. While clutching their sobbing Monkey's Paw wish created baby.
> 
> Oh, if only he could back to a simpler time when he was the Butler's son and Sherlock the son of the lord of the Manor!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trope: Harlequin/Mills and Boon  
> Warning: Really, really ridiculous. Not from a specific book per sec. A few different books. Monkey's Paw added to allow for baby. Also, John is *very* lucky. Also, Sherlock come to think of it.

Who would have thought that Sherlock would come into Tescos? The love of his life glaring at him while John held their squirming, sobbing child, who wanted John to fix his Bubby doll.

John held Scott firmly. Couldn't believe his rotten luck.

 

 

John had always loved Sherlock. They'd grown up in the same house. The same enormous marbled manor house.

John had been the butler's son. While Sherlock was the second son of the Lord of the Manor!

Then had come that fateful morning the summer John turned sixteen. It wasn't unusual for Sherlock to sit by the pool while John swam before the house woke up. Sherlock having never been to bed. That day, he said, "You went out with the Cook's daughter last night."

Heart pounding, John had climbed out. "Sort of."

"Don't."

Sherlock had kissed him. Followed by making use of the beds in the pool house. The poet's cottage. The folly.

Then Mycroft explained to John that Sherlock was betrothed to Lady Irene from the next estate. Broken hearted, John had fled.

Wishing on the monkey paw that he could have some part of Sherlock had been… well, how could he regret Scott? Better than ending up with Sherlock's liver.

 

 

Now Sherlock glared at him. Paused. Rolled his eyes. "You are a moron," and fixed Scott's Bubby.


	181. Mills and Boon: The Londinium Playboy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Londinium Playboy  
> Name: Sherlock Holmes  
> Occupation: Self made billionaire  
> Reputation: Terrible
> 
> Sherlock Homes appeared regularly in society magazines with a string of men. When he decided he wanted sexy John Watson as his personal assistant, it was a fait accompli!
> 
> John fully intended not to be swept off his feet. But working long hours by Sherlock's side, not to mention the makeover, he was bombarded with temptation! And mixing work with pleasure was Sherlock's specialty.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trope: Harlequin/Mills and Boon.  
> Warning: Ridiculous shifts. Practically nonsensical. I cannot believe this is in 4 parts. Mainly because K looked at the books as I was sorting for plots and wanted to know if there was a makeover. (there isn't) and was sad that there was no makeover.   
> I agree, I love the ones with makeovers. Oddly, does interject the plot from several stories where the woman is moonlighting at a *wear low cut outfits* place for financial reasons. Anyway, title, and description (if not plot) is from "The Parisian Playboy."

In the month since Sherlock Holmes had plucked the John out of the typing pool to be his personal assistant, he'd hardly seen the man.

The billionaire had been jetting around the world doing security things. Between hanging twinks off his arm in the society pages!

The brunet swept into the office. Glared at the blond. "What are you wearing?"

John looked down. His best oatmeal coloured Aran sweater and some brown slacks. "Clothes."

"Wrong! I told you that you needed to be presentable. It's why I've been away."

John couldn't say that almost all his money from this job – and his moonlighting job stripping at the Bronze Pony – went to pay his Father's medical bill after he'd been hit by a car on vacation in America.

John hardly turned around when he found himself swept off to Saville Row.

John wanted to protest, but people were stripping him to his Monday red skivvies. Measuring him. Holding up fine wools and soft linens for Sherlock's approval.

Sherlock circled John. Accepting. Rejecting. Watching.

Within an hour, John's was in tailored clothes. Button flies that Sherlock's long fingers slid into place. Tucking a tailored cotton shirt in. Buttoned into a silk waistcoat that matched Sherlock's scarf.

By the end of the week, John was standing next to Sherlock at a premiere in bespoke.


	182. Mills and Boon: His Personal Assistant's Secret Moonlighting Job - Secret No Moar!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brunet Billionaire Sherlock discovers that John, his personal assistant, is leading a double life pole dancing at the Bronze Pony!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trope: Harlequin/Mills and Boon.  
> Warning: Ridiculous. Don't try these pole dancing tricks at home!  
> Part 2 of 4.

Sherlock irritably dismissed Lord Taylor. The man's logical security access lead was nothing more than a suspicion that Bank of England employees piggybacked.

In any case, the selection of the Bronze Pony was a blatant attempt to appeal to Sherlock's interests. Pathetic. As if he was interested in bronze powdered twigs flinging off cowboy hats when there was John to consider.

The announcer said, "Hello, Gentlemen, please give a scorching welcome to our friend from the steamy Office."

John walked on stage.

Not in the tailored clothes that Sherlock had spent the week imagining peeling off of him. The clothes that he'd dressed him in. But actually, a better suit than when he'd first seen John two finger tying in the secretarial pool.

The blond strutted – the only word for it - to the pole. A gesture and the shirt was gone. Leaving the tie for gripping. John twirled a quick Iron X around the pole. Flung off the trousers. Leaving red pants, sock suspenders and oxfords. Beech. Maid Marion. Half Flag Invert into Brass Monkey.

Sherlock knew three things in that moment.

First buttoned trousers were better than zippered for handling an erection.

Second, John had a secret reason for performing here, which Sherlock would be finding out. Third, John was going to Sherlock's penthouse to perform a Music Box.


	183. Mills and Boon: His Pole Dancing Personal Assistant

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It would be wrong to repay his debt to Sherlock with sex.
> 
> That's why he danced for the billionaire on his personal pole in his penthouse. The sparkly one.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trope: Harlequin/Mills and Boon and stripping.  
> Warning: Just really ridiculous. Also, reference to oral sex while pole dancing.  
> part 3 of 4

John shivered as he remembered.

John had come out of the Bronze Pony to find Sherlock waiting. The brunet said, "I've paid your Father's American hospital debt."

"I'm not having sex with you." Repaying his debt that way would be wrong! John was practically a virgin!

John was about to give in when Sherlock said, "You'll quit your job here, and in addition to your day job," Sherlock's smile flashed forebodingly, "You'll give personal performances."

Every night since, John had gone to Sherlock's penthouse. Stripped. Danced on Sherlock's personal pole. The clear plastic one containing water, glitter and strobe lighting.

They had a system. Sherlock would select an outfit. Tonight John was a faun. Toga. High heels in the furred boots providing the impression of hooves. John shivered as he slid them on.

The blond came out to where Sherlock was waiting in his own toga. Wild Greek flute music playing. John felt that gaze as he flung off the toga and went to the pole. The counter on the wall always decreased by a ridiculous amount when John did an Extended Frodo, Sherlock's favourite.

It clicked to zero.

Sherlock sighed. "You've repaid your debt."

John landed both hooves with a hard clop on the floor. "Now your god commands you to dance."

Sherlock was amazing.

Fellatio while performing a box.


	184. Mills and Boon: Dancing on the Round Table

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When an inexplicable misunderstanding came between himself and his billionaire boss/lover, John did what was natural, fled to Tintagel to strip at a King Arthur themed club.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trope: Harlequin/Mills and Boon. Also, strippers.  
> Warning: Sex while pole dancing. Oral sex. Oral sex used to make a Gawain and the Green Knight joke.  
> 4 of 4

John didn't know why Sherlock thought John was responsible for the security breach. It had something to do with Sherlock's firewalls not being hard. John didn't understand. Firewalls were on fire. How could they also be hard!

He thought about how hard Sherlock had been the last time they'd made love while pole dancing. It had been love on John's part. When they'd performed the Seesaw. Made a Magic Box of their bodies.

Jobless and loveless, he fled to Tintagel where he stripped in a King Arthur themed strip club. Sometimes, he was Lancelot with a great big lance. Sometimes, he was Gawain for a partnered dance with a Green Knight.

He was Gawain when he found out the Table Round had been purchased by Sherlock.

Sherlock said, "I remembered that you're a luddite." Sherlock got down on his knees and offered John head.

John should have said no. But seeing Sherlock dressed as the Green Knight. On his knees. Already sucking John off, John shouted, "Yes!"

Somehow found the strength to push Sherlock back.

Sherlock was going to have earn John's love back the old fashioned way.

On the pole.

They rolled. Scissored.

Sherlock sank onto John's pole, the flesh one, in the Seated Flyer. Gasped together in the Double Stargazer.

Shouted, "I Love you!" as Sherlock went full Batman.


	185. Back Adjustment

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After Sherlock woke up with a numb right hand, John insisted Sherlock let him adjust his back.
> 
> His back and other things received full treatment.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trope: Well, John's not a masseur, but he's a doctor giving his detective a massage.  
> Warning: M/M oral sex and intercrural.

After Sherlock woke up with a numb right hand, John insisted Sherlock let him adjust his back.

Clothing stayed on. John applied careful pressure. Snap. John cradling Sherlock's head in his hands and turn. Pop.

The pins and needles faded.

The knot over his thoracic vertebrae remained.

Sherlock stripped to his pants and lay on his bed. His doctor warmed him under an electric blanket. Sighed as John carefully straddled him. Used rosemary oil as he applied Swedish massage from Sherlock's L4 to C1. Safe in his doctor's hands. Palms pressing. Thumbs gliding. Light circling motions relaxing his lumbar vertebrae and increasing Sherlock's sighs.

A ritual whenever Sherlock felt stiff.

He was often stiff.

This required preparation to prevent tenting his pants when John had him lie on his back. Pushing up under Sherlock's shoulders.

Sherlock complained of headaches.

John applied Shiatsu massage. Fingers stimulating Sherlock's cervical vertebrae. Sliding against his scalp. A kiss at his C1. Sherlock flexed his hips up. Received kisses from C1 down to L4. John's breathe warming oil slicked skin.

Sherlock complained about sacral pain. His doctor treated his pain. A gentle prostate rub with oil slick fingers. Thrusting up into his doctor's mouth through the irrumatio massage. Grinding and groaning while his doctor applied intercrural massage with a rosemary oil slick prick between Sherlock's buttocks.


	186. Happy Ending... Massage

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John's thrown his back out. He'll be useless to Sherlock like this.
> 
> So, of course, Sherlock has to adjust him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trope: Still no one actually a masseur, but Sherlock as one once for a case.  
> Warning: Implied hand job.

"You're useless to me like this. I'm going to have to adjust you."

John stopped trying to ease the knot in his back. "Uh."

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "You'd be surprised what people will reveal to their masseur."

John really wouldn't.

This was a terrible idea.

As with most of Sherlock's terrible ideas, he found himself doing it. In this case, naked – under a sheet - face down on a massage table that Sherlock produced from somewhere.

The heated blanket Sherlock laid across his back was perfect. This might be fine.

John flinched when Sherlock pressed the length of his arms down his back.

"Relax." Sherlock's face was next to his neck.

John tried. He thought not sexy thoughts.

Sherlock pulled back the blanket and sheet. Stroked lotion slick palms up his back and down his sides.

Knuckles kneaded along his spine. Interspersed with short circular sweeps. Sherlock reached his lower back.

"This is the source of the tension."

John thought hysterically that Sherlock might want to go a little lower and the other side.

Because the git was psychic, he slid a hand under John's hip. Pressed down on the other side. Lifted. Something popped into place. Perfect.

"Oh. That must be uncomfortable. You need an L1."

Sherlock turned him over. Stroked gasps that relieved tension not in John's back.


	187. Flattered By His Interest

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock wanted to be clear with John on their first date. Although he didn't care for the term dating or boyfriends given the connotations and he was absolutely not good boyfriend material. Which was to say, he was a bad emotional prospect, and a virgin, but he was more than ready to have John deal with the second part.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trope: Didn't realize they were dating. Or rather in this case, thinks they are dating. John does not. Sherlock does.  
> Warning: Sherlock wanders around in a sheet and gets nowhere. It's sad.

Sherlock was clear with John on their first date. He wasn't interested in marriage. Given he'd invited the man to live with him, he'd wanted John to understand that he wasn't a good emotional prospect.

He let it drop over Chinese, practically into a wonton, that he'd never had sexual intercourse. Wriggled in anticipation in his chair over John's pause. But it was only the second date.

John insisted on taking out his boss on what SHOULD have been their third date.

The *third* date.

Still, murder attempts. Kidnappings. Not bad.

After that, things stalled out. John played the field, which fine. Sherlock had basically said they weren't going to be exclusive on their first date, but still, he'd expected John to make a move by now.

He started wearing nothing but sheets about the flat. It was cold. Blazingly warm in the heat of John's gaze. He stole an ashtray from Buckingham Palace for him.

Took John on the most absurdly romantic murder getaway. Sprawled naked in their room in Dartmoor.

Waited. But John would not make a move.

John was ranting, "Why does everyone think they were a couple?"

Sherlock simply couldn't take it. Put his hands on John's shoulders. Didn't shake him. "Because we're dating!"

"Oh," said John. "OH!"

Sherlock decided he could live with the word boyfriend.


	188. Not Actually a Couple!...?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It was fine that Sherlock wasn't interested. Although, he could stop interrupting John's dates. And no John did not spend his dates talking about Sherlock.
> 
> Why did everyone think they were a couple?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trope: Didn't realize they were dating, John. Follows on previous chapter.  
> Warning: What, John doesn't know they are dating.

Sherlock was clear with John on their first case. He didn't date. Was married to his work.

All fine. But he needed to stop interrupting John's dates.

It was why he went on the trip with Sarah to New Zealand.

He hadn't mentioned Sherlock all that much. Just read a few of his texts aloud. The idea he was actually dating Sherlock was absurd.

He talked with Sherlock about it over dinner after the case with the aluminium crutch. Then they caught a jewel thief.

Finding a new locum job wasn't all that hard.

Good since Sherlock managed to interrupt work, dates, shopping… everything.

John grumbled, but he loved it. No idea why everyone thought they were a couple.

He was grumbling about that barista assuming he was Sherlock's boyfriend when Sherlock emerged in a sheet from his room. Sherlock had huge tracts of gorgeous land. John mostly looked away.

But they weren't a couple.

After the Hounds went down, John heard it seven times in one day.

John grumbled in their room at the Crossed Keyes. "Why does everyone think they were a couple?"

Sherlock was suddenly looming. Shaking him. "Because we're DATING!" Then. "Idiot!"

"Oh," said John. All those after case dinners took a new context. "OH!"

It was well past the third date. They tried out the bed.


	189. Reconsidering the Matter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock was very clear with John, he didn't date. He wasn't interested in romantic relationships. It was still critical that John declare himself dedicated to Sherlock on his blog.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trope: Didn't realize they were dating. In this case, Sherlock. John thinks they are.  
> Warning: Just climbing into bed.

Sherlock was clear with John on their first case. He wasn't interested in dating. Given he'd invited the man to live with him, clarity was important.

John killed a man for him. Sherlock invited John out to Chinese.

John was groaning over the wontons when Sherlock let slip that he'd never had sexual intercourse. Not his intention. John smiled at Sherlock over stir fry. Seemed intent on feeding Sherlock some.

Didn't seem to have heard.

He still couldn't believe that John interrupted the Banker case for a date with his supervisor. It was critical that Sherlock interrupt the date. All John's dates. Until John formally declared on his blog that he was going to focus exclusively on Sherlock. For cases.

Focusing on John's face when he fed Sherlock at their post case dinner out. Rested his hand on Sherlock's. Reaching for salt. A press of lips on his cheek at their door. A whispered, "Is this slow enough?"

Sherlock's whispered, "Yes." Sat with John on the couch watching flicking lights. Focusing on John's fingers brushing his hand.

Another case. Another dinner. French. John licking at Béarnaise. John's look over the wine. Carmen Fantasy on the speakers.

As they tumbled into the flat, into bed, slowly, slowly, slowly peeled each other of their clothes, Sherlock decided to reconsider the matter of boyfriends.


	190. Slowly, slowly, slowly

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John had a decision to make. A) He could leave the flat and get to date. B) Stay and continue to have Sherlock interrupt every date. C) Accept the no strings relationship Sherlock was offering.
> 
> Oh, who was he kidding...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trope: Didn't realize they were dating. Or rather, thinks they are dating. John does. Sherlock doesn't.  
> Warning: Mild m/m.

Sherlock was pretty clear on their first date, not date.

Whatever that was.

Married to his work. Blah, blah.

Then had John running back and forth across London to pull his mobile out of his pocket. Found some way to interrupt practically every date that John went on. Lounged around their flat in a sheet. Put his feet in John's lap for a rub. Purred when he got that rub. Invited John out to dinner to romantic places where for all practical purposes he paid.

Sherlock was married to the work. A virgin if what he'd said that night over Chinese was to be believed. But apparently amenable to entertaining the option of certain other romantic activities. Wanted to take it slow.

John had a decision to make.

He could… oh, he was picking option C. He had fond memories of lovers from the army, battle intense. What he had with Sherlock was more intense than any of that already. Whatever Sherlock wanted. They'd go slow.

Easy since they were already dating.

Sherlock chose the places.

John put his best game face on. Took his cues from Sherlock. Didn't rush until Sherlock was ready to rush headlong. Tumbled into bed. Into lips and arms and hands and so much focus. Virgin hands and gasps and all that brilliance brought to bear.


	191. They Drank for Science!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John insisted the mates went to pubs together.
> 
> Sherlock had been planning on an experiment on dexterity while inebriated. 
> 
> What they got was the truth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trope: In Vino Veritas.  
> Warning: Dub con since sex and blurted real feelings happens while drunk. M/M oral sex and hand job.

"Mates go to pubs together," insisted John.

Fine. Sherlock had been intended to do an experiment on dexterity and intoxication levels. Brought plastic beakers and a plan for a set of exercises.

John laughed. "Only you."

Everyone at the quiz night was wrong. Sherlock was… He rested his head on John's shoulder. "This is nice." Hadn't meant to say that. Noted it for the study.

Repeated the experiment.  

Still a quiz tragedy. Sherlock nuzzled John. "I like you."

John drank from his beaker. "I like you too."

"No, I." John wasn't understanding. "Love you." Face burned. Alcohol opening his pores. Sherlock was inebr… tipsy.

"Wouldn't have thought you'd get so soppy with one drink." John tugged Sherlock up. "Come on lightweight." Took them home.

Sherlock liked this feeling. Slow. Relaxed. He splashed drinks in beakers. John insisted they drink water.

"You keep me right," said Sherlock.

"Oh, God!" said John. His breath catching from what Sherlock was doing with his trouser fly. Tasting John. John's hands in Sherlock's hair. Felt so good to be loose. Louche. Licking. Sucking. Swallowing.

Fountaining truth while John took him in his hand. Took Sherlock to the edge. Gently held him as he fell.

In the morning, Sherlock awoke certain everything was ruined.

John blinked at him and said, "We are always drinking from those beakers."


	192. Buck Night of Two Best Blokes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There absolutely nothing strange about John and Sherlock going out for John's stag night without a single other person they knew going to places where they'd solved crime and getting utterly pissed together.
> 
> Problem was the truth at the bottom of the bottle.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trope: In Vino Veritas.  
> Warning: Dubcon for drunken sex. M/M handjob, biting.

Nothing strange about a stag night with just two blokes.

Just John and Sherlock getting pissed.

Shots in beakers. Blinked. Things got… louche. John liked the word louche. Sounded rich. Like Sherlock's voice.

"Wanna pet your voice," said John.

"What?" yelled Sherlock over the disco.

John demonstrated by petting Sherlock's throat. Sherlock swallowed. Opened his mouth so John could explore his voice. Slip his fingers inside. Slick and hot. Blunt teeth. Sherlock's tongue tasting. Swallowing.

A shirtless man in assless chaps yelled something. John blinked. They were in a gay bar. Not gay. John tugged Sherlock outside.

Blinked. They were home.

Mrs. Hudson implied they were lightweights. Called for more drinking.

Played a game. Bits of… bits of forehead paper with name thingies. 

Beakers. Booze.

Hand squeezing Sherlock's knee. "Nice knee." Giggled. "Love your knees." Leaned on both. "Bum too."

"Love you. But… um… not…" Sherlock blinked slowly, "the… question."

Very important to climb into Sherlock's lap. Demonstrate. "Love you." Blink. Grinding. Too much trousers. Squeezing. Blink. Floor. Clothes gone. Hurt. Sherlock grinding his teeth on John's chest. Blink. Hands on cocks. Rubbing. Spilled. Laughed.

John woke up with a vole in his mouth. On the floor. Clutched by a naked Sherlock. A dozen bites across John's chest.

John blinked.

Realized in a burst he'd rather be with his best bloke.


	193. To Say Nothing of the Evil Dog Twin Not Barking in the Night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pat Murphy insisted that the problem with the Tilly Briggs was all the evil twins.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trope: Mirror Universe/Evil Twins! Also, riffs off of Pat Murphy's "Adventures in Time and Space with Max Merriwell"  
> But you know, with a setup for p0rn.  
> Warning: Nothing happens, so not so much a setup for p0rn.  
> Followed by next chapter.

Pat Murphy leaned forward earnestly. "The problem with the Tilly Briggs is all the evil twins."

John stopped writing in his notebook. Looked at Sherlock

Sherlock looked back, but it was the planning to put newts in the bathtub look not, "What a nutter," look. Sadly, both were distinct and well known to John.

John opened his notebook. "What's led you to the problem? Something in the Baked Alaska?"

"No, our routes in the Bermuda Triangle." She said earnestly. "When we cross into the triangle, there are dopplegangers of everyone. Some of them are quite nice, but some… are evil. Mine keeps sleeping with… well, everyone. The Captain's almost killed the first mate."

"We'll take the case."

"What?" said John.

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "For a free room on your ship."

"Oh." John wouldn't have expected Sherlock to have cared that John needed a holiday.

The Tilly Briggs was a lovely little ship. Good drinks package. John was enjoying a rum drink in a piano bar when Sherlock sat down next to him. John assumed he was in disguise what with the goatee and slicked back hair. Slightly lounge lizard clothes. John was not going to stare at the man's chest.

Later John reflected that he should have known, but really Sherlock's evil twin sounded just like him. "John, I'm bored."


	194. Evil Twins Ahoy!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The implications of a ship full of evil twins was immediate to Sherlock.
> 
> Now he just had to convince John's evil doppelganger to go along with the plan and keep track of John.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trope: Mirror Universe/Evil Twins.  
> Warning: Sadly it was all convincing people to have p0rn and little p0rn.

John's doppelganger was surprisingly difficult to convince.

"That sounds," evil-John stroked his trimmed beard, "nasty."

"A once in a lifetime experience." Sherlock leaned back to admire evil-John's sartorial splendour.

Eventually evil-John agreed.

Then the difficultly was locating John.

Sherlock could have struck himself. He'd forgotten his own doppelganger.

They found John by the aft pool throwing bloody towels overboard. Sherlock's double was trussed up with a belt. Naked. Sherlock said, "John, you have to believe me. I'm the real Sherlock."

"Yeah, I got that," said John.

"Why are the towels bloody?" said evil-John.

"Other Sherlock killed a Murphy and since I don't want him to go to prison, I'm dealing with it," said John.

Sherlock felt a warm glow at John's willingness to conceal a crime for Sherlock.

Evil-John turned to Sherlock. "You want me to have a three way with…no." Evil-John backed away slightly.

John stopped what he was doing. "You wanted to have a three way with me." He looked at evil-John, "and me. But I thought… fine. I'm in." He tossed the last towel. "But it'll be you and killer here."

"Interesting," whispered not-Sherlock.

John smiled evilly.

Sherlock came to the odd realization that his John was the more evil of the two.

Still he protested, "But what about the other John."

John shrugged.

Eventually, they did both.


	195. Under the Weather

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John had been hoping that he was just tired, but no, he was sick.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trope: Hurt Comfort. Joh's sick and Sherlock helps/experiments/helps.  
> Warning: John's entire body hurts, he can't breathe and he has a sore throat.

John woke up and swallowed at the soreness plaguing his throat.

The door burst open.

"Go way. I'm,"

"Sick. Moderately obvious." Sherlock put down a tray on John's beside table. "I informed Mrs. Hudson yesterday."

John pushed himself up and accepted a steaming mug. The tea inside tasted like liquorice. Soothing. Tried to make a joke about herbal tea, but his throat wanted tea not feeble jokes.

He hardly cared that Sherlock was poking around, chattering about something. Gems. Oranges. Orange juice without pulp. John drank it.

Tottered slowly to the loo and back.

Later he struggled out of his blankets when Sherlock brought soup.

Sherlock did some tests where he read to John and queried John's comprehension. John mostly slept through it.

The next day, tea switched from liquorice to grassy as the cold went from his head into his chest. John soaked in a bath while Sherlock played something lovely.

A nap. More soup.

By the next day, John was almost human. Sherlock had disappeared. John went downstairs to thank Mr. Hudson for the supplies.

She said, "Did you like the orange juice. Sherlock said you'd want it without pulp."

"Oh, but the tea and soup and…" He trailed off.

"That was all Sherlock." Mrs. Hudson laughed and patted his hand. "I have such a silly pair of boys."


	196. Everything Hurts, but It Gets Better

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock was dying. Well, he was sick and it felt like he was dying and everything was horrible.
> 
> Fortunately, there's a good doctor nearby.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trope: Hurt Comfort. Sherlock is sick.  
> Warning: Curse you viruses for starting with a v. Why can't you be like bacteria. Fine, I'll go with bacteria.

Sherlock was utterly miserable. He couldn't breathe through his nose. Everything ached. His bones ached. His eyeballs ached. He didn't have the energy to so much as move a slide. He felt sticky. Every spot he moved into in his bed was damp and miserable.

There was a mild knock on his door.

"Dying!"

John opened the door. "Yeah, you mentioned that." He came in. He sat next to Sherlock on the bed. He took Sherlock's temperature with an ear thermometer. Declared Sherlock's temperature, "A bit higher than I'd like." He unbuttoned Sherlock's top and placed his cool stethoscope on Sherlock's chest. It felt like something was rattling in there. John stroked back Sherlock's hair, which felt good.

Sherlock drifted off. Came awake as John was helping him up. "You'll feel better after a bath." Sherlock shuffled into the bathroom. John helped him undress. Helped him into the water.

Sherlock could breathe. Think. There were Epsom salts in the water. Was able to listen to John read the agony blogs.

John helped him back into bed. It had clean sheets that felt cool against his skin.

Sherlock drifted. He wasn't hungry, but when John came back with soup, Sherlock sat up.

John ladled a spoonful. "Just a few bites, Sherlock. Get some nice spicy soup in you. Kill those nasty bacteria."


	197. A Visit to the Clinc

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock has a bit of a medical kink.
> 
> John, as it happens, is a doctor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trope: Medical Kink.   
> Warning: M/M anal play. Sex toys used in exactly the manner they were meant to be used, but not a medical procedure. Poor Sherlock, how will his swelling ever go down? Also, a ridiculous excuse to get to this chapter's b word.  
> Well, there is the house call in the next chapter.

Nurse Stealing Supplies led him into an examination room. Handed Sherlock a folded up hospital gown.

He put it on. Open in the back. He shivered, but not from cold.

John came in with a clip board and a black bag. He smiled slightly as he closed the door. "Now then Mr. Sigerson, what's the problem?"

Sherlock leaned back. "I'm experiencing swelling." He gestured at his genitals draped in the hospital gown.

"Hmmm… that sounds serious. Lie back on the table. I'll take a look."

Sherlock lay back. John snapped on blue rubber gloves. He cupped Sherlock's balls lightly while listening to his heartrate with his stethoscope. Inserted a finger in Sherlock's anus and lightly stroked Sherlock's prostate.

Sherlock gasped.

"There's your problem. But I have just the thing."

John reached into his bag. Pulled out a string of anal beads. Slowly applying lube to each.

John pushed in the smallest ball. "How's that?"

"Better, Doctor."

Another. Another. Larger and larger. Sherlock gripped the sides of the table as the largest ball went in.

"You need to keep these in for at least two hours." John looked stern.

"Doctor, I don't know if I can remove those myself."

"Of course not, sir." John patted Sherlock's knee. "I'll make a house call. It's critical we prevent this dangerous case of Azure Boules."


	198. The House Call

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John makes a house call (to admittedly his own flat) to help "Mr. Sigerson's" swelling go down.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trope: Medical Kink. Existing relationship.  
> Warning: M/M anal sex. Sex toys. Sherlock has an obgyn exam table upstairs. Well, it's not like they need a second bedroom.  
> Continues from previous chapter.

John arrived home still in his scrubs and lab coat. Calmly knocked on 221b's door. Sherlock answered.

"How are you doing, Mr. Sigerson?"

"It's even worse."

"Well, let's see what we can do about that." Sherlock led the way upstairs to the second bedroom. There was an examination table. "My, you are prepared for my house call."

"I take my health seriously," said Sherlock solemnly.

John had to fiddle with his case to keep from laughing. When he turned, Sherlock had put on a hospital gown and was on the table with his feet were cupped in the stirrups.

John put on rubber gloves. Carefully examined Sherlock's abdominal region, which fortunately increased everyone's swelling.

John prepared his flies. Gently pulled out the anal beads. "You're doing very well." The last one came out still slick with lube.

"Is there more to the procedure? I'm in a great deal of discomfort."

"I'm going to have to give you a few jabs." John took Sherlock's temperature with the anal thermometer.

Pulled it out. Pushed in.

Sherlock groaned loudly.

John rattled the table with his motion. Sherlock came with a wail. John not far behind.

After a long while, John pulled himself together. Pulled out. Cleaned them up. "Feeling better?"

"Much," sighed Sherlock boneless and loose. Unmoving.

John went to clean the anal beads.


	199. Captain John Watson

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock has a thing for soldiers in uniform.
> 
> Sometimes, he leaves John's out to see what he'll do.
> 
> It's always interesting.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trope: Military Kink. Established relationship.  
> Warning: M/M oral sex. Implied anal sex. Role playing interrogation. Returned to a previous cheat on my b word, but I couldn't stand the idea of busting the bronze buttons on John's lovely 19th century uniform (i.e., what John wore in TAB).

Sherlock would lay out John's old uniform and wait.

It was always fascinating to see what John would choose.

One beautiful September day, John approached Sherlock on the street. Introduced himself as Captain John Watson of the Northumberland Fusiliers. Indicated that he needed to speak about a matter of national security, which must be discussed at the pub across the street. On that occasion, Sherlock had taken him to the loo unable to wait for whatever scenario John had planned. Swallowed him down with rough wool rubbing against his cheeks.

The next time, he allowed himself to be dragged out the back alley and race across London. John took them to one of Churchill's old bunkers. Sherlock could have gotten them there in half the time. They fucked as if bombs were falling high above and they might not survive.

The nineteenth century uniform was a surprise, but not unwelcome.

In December, John marched into the sitting room and sat in the client's chair. He handed Sherlock a mystery from an old mate.

For Sherlock's birthday, John tied Sherlock to a chair and interrogated him in the kitchen. True there were one too many questions about what was in the refrigerator.

He ordered Sherlock around with the Captain's voice. Sherlock sadly gave up the secrets of his made up nation, Beralia.


	200. Aged in a God's Barrel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John loved the sound of Sherlock's voice. And when he was deducing, well...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trope: Voice Kink. Deduction Kink.   
> Warning: Well, to get that last b word, not really. On the other hand, no brollys were injured making this story.  
> Mycroft is *very* relieved.

Part of it was the voice.

Sherlock's voice sounded like it had been made by some ancient god then aged in a barrel. A god's barrel. For a very long time. Fine, it wasn't a great metaphor, but John sometimes had a hard time thinking when Sherlock looked at John, his hands in an attitude of prayer, and deduced.

Oh, fine, not when it was, "You want toast," because yes, in the morning, John liked toast. That wasn't amazing.

But sometimes John would come home from an absolutely crap day, just from Mrs. Sumner forgetting to take her meds to those teens who'd been playing war with firecrackers. Add rain with no brolly.

Sherlock would whirl him around and back out the door.

Sherlock would tell John about John's day. Every word adding distance, or space to rant, or just plain make it fall away. He'd tell John about everyone else's day. The crap and the incredible. The woman in green, who'd been promoted. The boy, who'd just been terrified by seeing a tampon in his mum's purse.

"Teach him to steal," laughed John.

Then there were the times he'd look at John and say, "You want me."

It was true.

"Now."

Also, true.

All John could do was grab his geniuses wrist and not even care they'd forgotten a brolly.


	201. The Musgrave's Boring Riddle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock needed a break. Running too fast too long. So when an acquaintance from college invited Sherlock to stay at his manor for the long weekend, John insisted they go.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trope: Holiday and case fic. Takes from the Granada version as well as the ACD original.   
> Warning: Nothing but Sherlock needing a break. John being jealous and of Reginald!  
> Followed in the next chapter.

Sherlock's summer cold malingered. Or rather, he wouldn't sleep, smoked very vile shag out a window and generally treated his lungs like a coal tip, ate terribly, took case after weary case. Things that weren't even a five.

He needed a break.

In all fairness, John could hardly stand to see him like this. So when an acquaintance from Sherlock's university days invited them out to his manor estate, it seemed like a perfect break.

John was in no way curious about Reginald Musgrave.

Sherlock leaned his head against the car window. "He's an acquaintance. Not a friend. I don't have friends." Coughed and huddled into the blanket that John had arranged over him.

John smiled slightly. He'd learned the rubric of what that meant.

He also soon learned that he didn't like Reginald Musgrave, who sat Sherlock far too close to him and kept excluding John from the conversation and… he didn't like him.

Given the way the man's Butler, Brunton, was glaring at him, clearly they'd had an affair, which had ended badly. The cad.

Reginald tried to entertain Sherlock with some absurd riddle about trees and shadows. Sherlock was clearly falling asleep.

John glared at Reginald, and put Sherlock to bed with the help of the butler.


	202. The Musgrave's Not so Boring Riddle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Regi had always acted as if his family history was interesting.
> 
> As it turned out, it had some points of interest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trope: Holiday. Also case fic.  
> Warning: M/M sex implied. Or I don't know, jumping on a bed, but no... it's sex.

Regi tried to act as if his family had an interesting history.

What was actually interesting was Brunton, the butler's reaction to the recitation. The smirk of someone who had already solved a mystery that left lessor men baffled. Also, Brunton was clearly, carrying on affairs with at least two of the household staff.

Sherlock had not been falling asleep. Merely been thinking. Woke up in an absurd four poster bed with John and Regi quarrelling outside his door. Not his preferred arrangement for John.

Brunton and a maid had disappeared. The maid floated up dead in the lake. Dragging the lake turned up a sack full of rubbish.

Sherlock considered the mystery. How he truly wanted this holiday to resolve.

Sherlock was on fire. Calculating basic geometric principles based on ancient riddles involving trees.

They found Brunton dead in a hidden compartment in the cellar.

John was astonished. Amazed. Impressed. Particularly when Sherlock dramatically revealed that the contents of the sack were the lost crown of Charles I, which took a bit of fiddling.

But even better, was when John came into Sherlock's room later that night to see if he needed anything.

Sherlock decided that he was on vacation. Decided what he needed.

Demonstrated his need to test the bedsprings when two adult men, closer than friends, vigorously bounced.


	203. The Inn is Open

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock wasn't even sure what a Hobbiton was, but John insisted as long as they were in New Zealand, they were going there.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trope: Holiday fic.  
> Warning: They go to Hobbiton. Continued in the next chapter.

"We're going to Hobbiton."

"I don't even know what that means," said Sherlock, passing yet another plantation of redwood trees in the New Zealand countryside.

"You got to solve a murder. I fell into a lake. We're going to Hobbiton. Anyway, the Inn wasn't open when I came here with Sarah."

Sherlock had no idea what a Hobbiton was, but John wanted to see it. He'd been denied seeing something when he'd been here with the girlfriend, who'd been his boss. John had fallen into a lake. He'd also hit a knife wielding manic with a tree branch when Sherlock had not tripped over a tree root.

"Fine."

They drove past sheep.

Also, drove past deer.

"Turn here," said John pointing to an unmarked road. They came to a parking lot.

Hobbiton, as it turned out, was a fake village for people who lived under the earth. John was in transports. He raced around looking at various doors. Dragged Sherlock through a rounded door into a small home. Picked up objects and acted like plates were astonishing. It was… Sherlock enjoyed seeing John like this. It wasn't angry shouting, but it was pleasant.

They went to "The Green Dragon". John insisted they both have pints of Southfarthing Range ale.

Somehow, Sherlock found himself convinced to continue their journey. There and back.


	204. Under the Southern Cross

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John wasn't entirely certain how he ended up on holiday with Sherlock in New Zealand, but he wasn't complaining.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trope: Holiday fic.  
> Warning: Nothing but kissing under the stars.

John wasn't entirely certain how he'd ended up on holiday with Sherlock in New Zealand. There had been a murder, but Sherlock had given in very easily to the idea of a driving tour while they were halfway around the world.

Each night, John would open up his laptop. Rest it on his lap. They'd sit on John's bed watching part of a Lord of the Rings movie. They had to sit close.

Very close truth be told.

John didn't mind. Sherlock's long legs stretched out next to his own. His breath warm on John's cheek. Resting his head on John's shoulder. Reaching around John for his tea.

Sherlock complained about the lack of murders. He wouldn't have been Sherlock if he hadn't. In any case, they came across a wine burglar on the South Island, which Sherlock enjoyed. Though what exactly the thief thought he was going to do with a one ton vat, John couldn't have said.

They were at Mount Cook when the cloud cover broke. Sherlock grumbled at the idea of stargazing, then insisted they huddled together under a blanket. It was far too cold to sit separately. They looked for the Southern Cross. The vast spill of the Milky Way across the sky.

Each other, as they turned their attentions to tasting each others' lip balm. 


	205. Huckleberry

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John headed out west after the War killed just about everyone he knew in Virginia. 
> 
> He met a stranger on the Stagecoach.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trope: Historical period. American West, after the Civil War.  
> Warning: You can't see the splendid outfit I'm imagining Sherlock in, but it's fabulous. Then again, it's left to your imagination now. See what I mean? Fabulous.

Nothing left for John in Virginia. He'd been a doctor going into the war with the North. He'd come out a butcher.

Best thing for it seemed to be to head out West. Drift off the edge of the map.

Last Stop, Colorado had advertised for a Doctor. Seemed the right sort of place to end up.

He took the train as far as it would take him. Caught the stage from there.

Somewhere between nowhere and nothing, the most splendid dandy John could possibly have imagined climbed into the coach and sat opposite John. The sort of creature that belonged on a paddle wheeler plying cards up and down the Mississippi. John was contemplating the man's coat, when he said, "Do you have something for a sore head, Doctor." Calm as you please.

"How did you know I'm a doctor?"

Dandy tapped a toe against John's medical case and pointed out a thing or ten.

"That's amazing."

"Interesting," said the Dandy. "Most people try to shoot me."

"Then why'd you ask like that."

The dandy shrugged. "I have a headache." He handed John a card. Sherlock Holmes, Investigator. "I could use a partner on my next case. A Huckleberry."

Least a month before Jon had to be in Last Stop. "I'll be your Huckleberry. For fifty percent of the bounty."


	206. Into the West

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There was nothing left for Sherlock in England after Cromwell won the war. Not that he had any great connection to a crown that lost its head, but family connections made it a good idea to leave for the colonies out west.
> 
> Sherlock met someone very interesting on the ship to Barbados.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trope: Historical period. Messing around with Civil War. Ante Bellum.  
> Warning: Men smoke on a small object made of wood in the middle of a great big ocean. Oh, and have sex off screen.

Sherlock was not a Puritan. Nor was he particularly interested in supporting the crown. Particularly once that crown lost its head.

Unfortunately, given family connection's poor choices, for all Mycroft insisted he was taking the long view, Sherlock decided the best choice was to pick up and head west to the colonies. It was either that or head with Mycroft for France.

Sherlock prepared for a particularly dreary voyage to Barbados.

Reverend Carmichael assured him that the souls in that community were in need of council. Mr. Winters hotly argued that less council from pure minded folk was called for. Doctor Watson ruffled a deck of cards and suggested a game or ten.

The good doctor was from Edinburgh by his accent. With a softening that indicated a time in London. Sherlock offered the man some shag. They smoked aft deck.

Sherlock may have exerted himself to impress.

Sherlock detected the stance of a duellist. Sword and pistol. Solider too. His presence on a ship leaving Cromwellian England was clear enough.

The man said, "I've been promised a place on a ship that will be sailing out of Tortuga."

Piracy then.

"Interesting."

Doctor Watson tapped his pipe on the ship's rail and into the sea. "Interested in joining?"

Sherlock smiled.

They spent the journey shagging most of the way to Barbados.


	207. Adventures in Piracy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Captain John Watson had a letter of Marque. Queen Mary got her share of Spanish treasures taken.
> 
> Who he found in the hold of a French ship, well...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trope: Pirates/Privateers. Alternate Age of Exploration.   
> Warning: The pirates aren't even that bad.  
> Though the hat thing is based on a real event. Also, oddly, a pirate captain marooning himself.  
> http://www.cracked.com/article_19353_the-7-most-terrifying-pirates-from-history.html  
> Err as I consider the list, I'm referring to:   
> Benjamin Hornigold, William Dampier

Captain John Watson had a Letter of Marque from Queen Mary herself. For the most part that meant sailing where he wanted and waging free war on Spanish shipping. The Queen, the child of the most famous of divorces, hadn't taken her own annulment from the Spanish King terribly well.

She took her share of Spanish gold a new way now.

But on this particular day, John wasn't looking for gold. The night before, his entire crew had gotten stinking drunk on rum and lost their hats. John was also hatless.

The solution was simple. They disguised themselves as Frenchmen, took over a French ship, stole everyone's hat, saving one to send back as Queen Mary's share.

"Captain, look who we found below decks."

John fidgeted with his new splendid hat. "Sher… Captain Holmes. I thought you were marooned on an island in the South Pacific." John had set fire to an entire Portuguese city over the event.

"I marooned myself," said Sherlock, as if this explained his presence. "I've been looking for the Fountain of Youth and found the City of Gold instead." He sounded disgusted.

John was more than happy to go with Sherlock to the City of Gold.

He sent Queen Mary her hat and his resignation.

They had enough funds for their own island and 221 boats.


	208. A Wardrobe, a Ship and a Star to Sail Her By

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John went into the wardrobe.
> 
> Sherlock flew out the window towards the first star to the right.
> 
> They met again on the high seas.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trope: Pirates. Fusion with Narnia and Neverland.  
> Warning: When arranging a meeting with a lover in a fantasy setting make sure one of the travel methods does not involve time dilation, or Sherlock doesn't possibly spend two years getting dressed.

John disappeared into the wardrobe.

Sherlock waited a minute. Went out the window. Flew past Big Ben. There was a star to the right. It was nearly morning.

Off the shores of Neverland, he alighted on the deck of the Revenge. The seas unfroze and the denizens of the ship woke from their long slumber.

From the rocks, the Woman, a mermaid with sharp teeth, called out his name.

"I'm not here for you," he called back.

Sherlock changed clothes. A white lace shirt. Peacock blue silk waistcoat. Black velvet frock coat. High leather boots. A shining cutlass. Tricorn hat with a peacock feather.

Ready, he ordered his men to set sail for the Narnian shipping lanes.

On the horizon, a familiar red sailed ship rode heavy in the water.

The Revenge soon caught up with their prey.

Captain Watson didn't wait to be attacked. A pistol shot pierced Sherlock's wide sleeved coat.

He answered with broadside cannon fire. A hit as the Morning Rider surged up on a wave. Pirates swung aboard. Fighting sailors. Sherlock duelled with John in the rigging. Sherlock had the advantage of flight.

"Surrender."

"It's been two years." Captain Watson tumbled back into nothing.

Sherlock caught him. Kissed him. Years melted away.

He flew his prize to his Captain's quarters for a ravage in his bunk.


	209. Lemony Fresh

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Consulting1895 and BAMFDoctor had been BNF in Fandom since forever.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trope: Meta - They're in Fandom.  
> Warning: Does not actually include anything to justify that title.   
> http://www.angelfire.com/falcon/moonbeam/terms.html

Consulting1895 had been vidding in the Dupin fandom since fans had to daisy chain VCRs together.

Sal4567 said hu acted like hu'd been vidding since cave times. She animated a gif of some cave paintings. To "Wild Horses".

She also anon fail posted two Bishonen Bison going at it on Yuletide coal with no bestiality tags. True, the number of ConsultingDetective/BAMFDoctor RPF fic that year had been epic. Spaceman/Caveman won the internet.

The coalies were amused. Sadly, no longer were the days of Fandom_wank, but Tumblr tumbled with it. Twitter tweeted. Pintrest pinned.

The SMOF, LizardLord, was not amused. When LizardLord was not amused with one, well, the cable went out in the middle finales. Torrents came with malware. It wasn't pretty.

ConsultingDetective didn't care. Hu vidded. Hu ficced. Hu arted. Hu cosplayed. Crossplayed. Hu selfied as Dupin. Hu was self-employed.  

Hu was a BNF.

Hu did not lurk.

BAMFDoctor started Betaing for ConsultingDetective back in Alhambra's Dupin series.

DancingWeasel claimed to have seen a mimeographed Rue Morgue zine with ConsultingDetectives A/N thanking BAMFDoctor for the fanart.

They were BNF.

They were a couple. No for serious. Anyone who line buddied with them at con came off writing sonnets.

But what everyone was waiting for every year was what magical multi-media creation they'd put out for the annual Dupin Big Bang.


	210. Timewar Extreme!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John had played a series of affable characters. His affable doctor on Timewar was par for the course.
> 
> Sherlock had played a series of villainous Brits. 
> 
> Together, they may have caused the interwebs to melt with their on-screen chemistry.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trope: They are Actors. In this case on a CW show.  
> Warning: They kiss. Adult language involving steamy looks.

Timewar was in its third season. Doing well for a CW show. Dialog technobabble ridiculous. John played the affable medical officer. The latest in a long string of affable second strings.

Mike opened the season three read through with, "Here's this season's villain." He waved at a drop dead gorgeous bloke, which fine, CW. "Sherlock will be playing Maximillian, the new leader of Crimson Storm."

Tommy, who played Major Lewis Clarke, the crack leader of the TIME unit sniffed.

John held out a hand. "I'm guessing you must be British then."

"Never, guess." Nice handshake. "It's not a guess that you find this use of two years of medical school amusing."

John laughed, which was the start of spending their off time together. Comparing Sherlock's villainous career to John's nice blokes.

Which was why John did it. Threw Sherlock an on camera eye-fuck. Sherlock responded beautifully.

The internet responded. John may have used it for wanking.

The writers picked up on it. Sherlock captured John constantly. They were stranded in the stone-age together with only one fur blanket. They had to work together to stop a time plague.

Got the finale script. Their declaration kiss before the cliff hanger. He went to Sherlock's trailer. Said, "So… ummm… they're ummm…"

"John," said Sherlock, kissing him, "My character's not the only one besotted."


	211. The Bard was an Upstart Crow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Playing Midsummer Night, Sherlock worried that the events of the previous evening had ruined things with John, his Puck.
> 
> The play went on.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trope: They are actors. In this case in a play.  
> Warning: I seem to like the hoofed boots. Well, I heard ASH talk about them for an episode of Buffy.

Sherlock put on his curling horns. Applied glitter over a bruise. He slid his feet into his high heeled boots. He'd done a run as Frank-N-Furter years ago. This was little different. If transforming his feet into hooves.

Irene already bedazzling in her Titania costume sauntered into his dressing room. She perched on his table. "And here is my precious king."

"I'm not giving you the boy back."

Irene rolled her eyes. "I think we both know the one you want is Puck. While I have my eye on Peaseblossom." She flicked at a flake of glitter on his shoulder. "So how did it go last night between the king and his faithful servant?"

He put on the somewhat ridiculous furred codpiece. Pointedly didn't answer.

"Oh, that well."

Sherlock glared at her with Oberon hauteur and left. Her laughter followed him.

John wasn't meditating in his usual spot by the curtain.

Which was disconcerting. Sherlock had hoped. After last night.

His cue came and he strode on stage. Irene lowered from a bending flower opposite. While John as Puck, naked as he was every night, slid under the flick of Sherlock's fingers. Nuzzling his cheek into Sherlock's furred trousers. A hidden squeeze of his hand.

Fears lifted. Resting a hand on faithful Puck's shoulder, they made good use of the Bard.


	212. The Soul of Love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock, King of the Seelie Court, had a simple command for his John, his merry wanderer of the night. John questioned the mermaids and not the votresses of Diana? Really? Fine, Sherlock could show John how this should be done.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trope: They are fairies.  
> Warning: Shakespearean Dubcon. Love potion in the eye. Aka, that merry wanderer of the night wants something from his king.

Sherlock had a very simple command for his John. Leave the grove where Sherlock and Queen Irene of the Unseelie were feuding over a changeling boy. Go to the promontory where they'd listened to the mermaid on dolphin back concert. Seen Cupid dancing such that he'd misfired and shot a flower rather than one of Diana's huntresses. Return with a flower.

Simple.

John returned a week later with a story about questioning some dozen mermaids, but completely failing to find the flower.

"You would have been better served to question Diana's huntresses, who are familiar with flora rather than unrelated sea-maidens."

John looked shamefaced. Rubbed his bare body against Sherlock's furry thighs. "I'm sorry, my Lord."

Sherlock couldn't stay angry with John when he did that. Not with his tiny horns scratching, accidentally certainly, against Sherlock's codpiece.

He went with John to the promontory to show John how it was done. John was impressed. He praised his King, which was only fitting. The sky puffed with white clouds as Sherlock showed his John how to make a love potion from the flowers.

"One drop in the eyes and Irene will pursue with the soul of love the first thing she sees on waking."

After his nap, Sherlock forgot about Titania and some boy as he and John disported in Sherlock's bower.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Less than ten stories to go. Hmmm....


	213. Sky on Fire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They're stuck on an Orkney Island for the day at least. Until the next ferry. 
> 
> Then Sherlock wakes John because the sky is on fire.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trope: Holiday. Huddling for Warmth.  
> Warning: They huddle for warmth. It's actually quite cold.

"I don't see why we couldn't return tonight."

"There's no ferry until morning. The only plane was involved in a drug smuggling ring. It's the middle of October and we're on the Orkney Islands."

"Island. We're currently on one of the Orkney Islands."

"True."

"The name makes no sense."

Since Sherlock – never repeat himself – Holmes had commented on the name Mainland at least three times, John ignored him.

John went to bed. Was woken at around one by Sherlock practically sitting on him, which was not that unusual. "John, the sky is on fire."

"What?"

John pulled himself together. Put on a layer of sweaters. The sky was indeed on fire. John hadn't managed to see the Aurora since he was a boy. Laughed. He pointed at the sky. "This is why you shouldn't delete the solar system." Went back into the room for the blankets and comforters. Sat on some chairs on the beach to watch the show. It was freezing. Sherlock was shivering.

John layered blankets on the sand. Pulled Sherlock down into the cocoon. Their bodies warming each other.

John couldn't explain the science. Something about exciting solar things. Sherlock shifted.

Excited.

John watched the lights on this beloved man's face.

They curled together under the blanket. Breathing in time. Watching the dancing lights of the Aurora Borealis.


	214. Notational Science

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock was used to get notes under his dorm room door. Primarily death threats. But chemistry pickup lines? Who could it be?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trope: College students. Science!  
> Warning: Cheesy chemistry pickup lines used to describe M/M up to anal sex.

A note slid under the door of Sherlock's dorm room. Not unusual. Death threats were common. Sherlock opened the note with tweezers.

"Were you made from copper and Tellurium? Because you're CU-TE."

He discussed it with John, a medical student he was tutoring in Chemistry. Sherlock'd narrowed the source down to a computer lab. "But why a computer lab?"

John hunched over his book. "Must not have a printer."

The note's existence was boggling.

There was another.

"I like you more than periodically." A picture of the same periodic table that Sherlock had as a poster.

"Not the top Google image result!" Sherlock waved the note at John.

John glanced up at the poster.

The next note was, "Are you a carbon sample? I'd like to date you."

Sherlock waved the note at John during their next study session in John's room.

John sighed. Slid a note across the floor.

"I wish I were adenine because then I could get paired with U."

Sherlock immediately became interested in the possibilities.

They experimented with static coefficient. Converting kinetic energy.

Tested the spring potential of John's mattress.

Rearranged the periodic table with Uranium and Iodine together as John penetrated Sherlock like a neutrino.

Determined it wasn't the length of the vector, but the force.

They had great chemistry, but they made incredible biology.


	215. Covalent Bonds

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John was a very excitable singlet Oxygen atom. 
> 
> Sherlock was equally excitable, but only interested in delving deeply, so very deeply into atomic structure.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trope: Anthropomorphic  
> Warning: Dubious Science! So very dubious. I've even misused the word singlet cuz, well, Bridget Jones made me or something. No, wait, I should own it. I've combined to completely different things together for the benefits of quasi porn. Errr... atoms get it on.  
> https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Singlet_oxygen  
> https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Double_bond  
> http://scienceprimer.com/nucleotide-base-pairing

John was an Oxygen atom. Dioxide. Chemically bonded with another Oxygen atom, Sherlock.

They'd bonded as soon as they met in the Earth's high atmosphere after John had been injured in a methylene blue accident.

John had felt an immediate attraction, being in a singlet state, xier had asked, "Interested in some quark hunting?"

They actually had gone quark hunting, which was exiting. Exhilarating.

John had been disappointed when Sherlock had explained that xier was only interested in delving into a thorough exploration of the nature of atomic structure.

Then John realized that xier was an atom! A highly excitable Oxygen atom! High in the Earth's atmosphere completely surrounded by charged solar particles. Near a very attractive Oxygen atom.

All eight of John's electrons spun around xiers nucleus. Reacting to Sherlock spinning.

All sixteen of their electrons spun into higher and higher orbits from xiers nuclei. It was impossible to tell how long they existed in this excited state. Maybe even microseconds.

Low to high energy filling their orbitals. Overlapping them.

Suffice to say, they both glowed red when their electrons went back to a grounded state. Photons released. So very bright red. Possible to see even miles away on the surface of the Earth.

When it was done, four of their electrons were firmly connected in a covalent double bond.


	216. Wheels in the Sky

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The solar winds, which for this story are named Sherlock, were always touching the Earth's magnetosphere, which for the purposes of this story, are named John.
> 
> Sometimes however, coronal masses gotta eject. Fill the sky with excited light.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trope: Anthropomorphic.  
> Warning: If I'm lucky enough to see the Aurora Borealis (or in all fairness Australis), I may have just either ruined it for myself or made it even more awesome by writing it as p0rn. Well, technically, I've already written the phenomenon as Mabinogion femslash previously, so... whatever. For the purposes of this story, you have been warned.  
> http://www.atoptics.co.uk/highsky/auror2.htm  
> http://earthsky.org/earth/what-causes-the-aurora-borealis-or-northern-lights  
> http://www.northernlightscentre.ca/northernlights.html  
> https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Aurora

The solar wind's name, for the purposes of this story, was Sherlock.

Xier was always touching John, but sometimes xiers Coronal Mass Ejections pulsed with plasma. An aching coronal hole. Protons and electrons racing with not only particles, but magnetism.

The Earth's Magnetic fields waited. They were, for the purposes of this story, named John. Not sources of light, but great exciters of it. Xier was spun by a turbulent outer core of molten iron. That was how John rotated.

Sherlock was very fast. Supersonic. Hitting John in a shock wave. Bowing John. Pushing the sunward side inward. Coronal Mass Ejections thrusting in the sunward shocked hole as Sherlock and John linked. John's night side stretched in a great magnetosheath, perfect for Sherlock to slide around. Exciting atoms just below John's magenetopause.

They twisted together. In part controlled by Sherlock's wind. In part ruled by John's magnetic contractions inward. Particles exciting as they collided with the atmosphere. Nitrogen atoms regaining an electron. Shining blue. Ionizing to John's great groans. Burning red as they sank to a ground state from an excited state.

Sherlock wasn't done.

Oxygen excited into green. Into corkscrews of red energetic protons.

On and on, Sherlock excited particles spiralled along John. Plunging into the upper atmosphere in great prolonged aurora.

All through the night in great pulsing bands.


	217. In the Orion Belt

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock didn't know anything about floating in the Orion Belt of the Milky Way, which astonished John.
> 
> Sherlock had other things xie wanted to discussed with xiers closest orbiting planet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trope: Anthropomorphic.  
> Warning: Not much to say.  
> https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Bolide  
> https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/55_Cancri_e  
> https://www.cnet.com/news/hubble-probes-atmosphere-on-diamond-planet/

"How can you not know that we're in the Orion spiral of the Milky Way," said John. Xie rotated around Sherlock. "We're orbiting in it. It's all around us."

Sherlock irritably spotted the surface of xiers photosphere. "Will it help me with hydrogen fusion?"

"No," said John.

"Then I shall go on completely ignorant of the Orion Arm or the Milky Way."

Far away Mycroft coolly fused carbon. "Discussing the four arms is less interesting than the black hole currently preparing to erupt at the centre of the Milky Way, but… I've said too much."

Lestrade adjusted xiers rings. "It's not my division."

"I used to orbit a black hole," said Hudson swirling a small gaseous storm. "Xie took and took and took."

John raced around Sherlock. A curl from Sherlock's corona brushed a wave over John's surface.

Sherlock said, "John, you're not a source of light, but you are a great reflector of light." John reflected. John was mostly made of carbon. A diamond in the rough. With a seething layer of silicon carbide. A layer of diamond with a steel rich core.

Moriarty was a bolide. Streaked in from the comet belt. Then xie exploded, because that's what bolides do.

"That was bizarre," said John.

"Let's not talk about Moriarty," said Sherlock. "I'd rather talk about the Big Bang."


	218. Together They Solved Crime!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock was THE blood reagent.
> 
> John found fingerprints.
> 
> Together...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trope: Anthropomorphic.  
> Warning: Nothing much to see.

Sherlock was a highly complicated solution. Highly technical. Put simply when explaining the process in a court of law – which almost no one was able to do – Sherlock was a human blood identifying reagent.

THE human blood identifying reagent. Extremely accurate at identifying human blood on any surface. Could even identify blood type.

Created by an English Doctor, who watched a good many television shows in which the CSIs just sort of sprinkled a liquid on a surface to ID blood. Which was all very fine and good, except the Doctor did some research, being that sort of fellow, and found out no such thing existed.

So he invented it!

He was currently working on a computer program for facial recognition like in all those shows so CCTV would actually be useful instead of merely a lot of footage. He was calling the project Mycroft. He was a medical Doctor, so there was some question if that would happen.

John was a kit of powder and a brush. When applied the user could make out finger prints. It wasn't rocket science. A child could do it. John had been around for awhile.

Whatever.

Together they solved crime! Err… I mean together they solved murders. Hmm…well together they solved cases of bumbling burglars not wearing gloves who left blood on the balustrade.


	219. Baker Street

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock was a wild yeast. John was all purpose flour.
> 
> Martha Hudson had the fortitude to make bread.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trope: Anthropomorphic.  
> Warnings: Yeast and flour getting up to things.  
> In considered making the starter in the year A Study in Scarlet was written, but... always 1895.

Wild yeast like Sherlock could be finicky and fussy. But his flavour and textures put the commercial stuff to shame.

What he needed was an all-purpose flour starter like John. Together, they could do anything.

They required daily maintenance. It felt like Martha Hudson was always putting refreshments into their bin. Fortunately, she had the patience, fortitude and general desire to make bread.

Also, a great legacy to maintain.

Her great gran had started the batch in 1895.

Not that she was making bread constantly. She wasn't a baker even if she lived on Baker Street. But when she was ready, she'd start feeding John and Sherlock flour and water. Watch the bubbles form while Sherlock was busy multiplying in John. Getting bubbly and billowy. Frothing and just a little bit sour with all they were getting up to.

But hydration was key.

When she was ready, she'd pull from the seed sponge where her boys were up to some fun. The rise time was a bit longer than some of her other starters and absolutely shouldn't be used in a machine, but Sherlock and John always rose to the occasion with enough paddling.

She carefully misted them once they were shaped and on the baking stone.

She did not watch while they baked.

In the end, there was always bread.


	220. Lemon Fresh + Proof

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trope: Anthropomorphic  
> Warning: Um.... well, lemonchello, very complicated to make. Actually no.

Sherlock had been sitting in a bottle in the cabinet for ages. Gathering dust behind the rising tide of refillable water bottles that appeared to be breeding.

Sherlock was aloof. Also 151 proof. Too much vanilla flavour in xiers home distillation to interest plebeians. But actual vanilla. Not at all boring.

Sherlock was bored.

The water bottles were breeding.

Mike Stamford reached in. "I told you this was here."

His wife, Jenna, wasn't listening. She was grating John lemons. The recipe called for Meyer lemons, but she'd gotten them from a co-worker with a tree.

Mike poured Sherlock into a large mason jar. Fortunately, Sherlock was not a 375 ml.

The sugar in the jar said, "Hello, dear, don't mind me. I'm not here to get between you and John. Just a bit of sweetness."

Jenna held up the zests. "Looks like they've been through the wars." Dumped John into the jar, which Mike put back into the cupboard.

The water bottles were still breeding.

Sherlock didn't mind.

John said, "Nice, very nice. Real vanilla." Started infusing into Sherlock. Days of bright flavour slowly spreading. Sugar adding a touch of sweet.

Mike pulled them down weeks later. The zests were filtered out, but John's flavour, their flavour, remained.

Delightfully, they went into a new bottle and were placed on the bar.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Eeep only one left.


	221. Bucolic Bees

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Boogieman bested. Brides behind. Bees buzz bouquets. Blokes bask by bucolic blades breeze brushed. 
> 
> Beloved bliss.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trope: Established relationship, retirement maybe. Maybe vacation. But definitely a story all in Bs.  
> Warnings: M/M sex, because English is a wonderful language and has the vocabulary (what with the borrowing from other languages) for porn all in words starting in b.

Bucolic blades breezes brushing. Bees buzzing bouquets. Bluebells. Begonias. Bee's balm.

Blokes basking.

Birds breeding. Bullfinches. Babblers. Bare-eyed bronzewings.

Besties backrubbing.

Bays. Birches. British Beeches. Boughs braiding Birnham's battlements.

Bohemian beholding brilliance.

Butterflies bedazzling buttercups. Blue. Brown. Biodiverse.

Beach brine bathing banded bay below. Blythe boat bobbing.

Bisexual babbling.

Botanical bordello… bower.

Bucks bellowing billet-doux.

Bachelors bucking back.

Brides behind. Battles bourn. Bombs blown. Bleary blindness blasted. Bilious boogiemen blighted. Boundaries broken. Buffeting Boreal bitterness becalmed. Black brooding blocked.

Bontemps. Bonheur. Bon.

Brilliant.

Boys breathing brokenly.

"Breathing's boring."

Baritone boiling blogging blood.

Books bent. Bespoke bestrewn. Buttons busted. Bootless.

Blogger. Beekeeper. Bare.

Burning. Blistering. Blowing burgeoning. Base bruising. Belt bound bondage. Brunet bending begging blond. Bottoming beneath benches. Bare-backed. Brutal. Boisterous. Ballads baroque. Bonking bagtelle. Boinking bataglia. Boning Biblically.

Brass bold. Bold-hearted.

Bodies balmed between bouts. Burnishing brows. Biceps. Bums. Bumholes. Bollocks. Bellies.

"Bossy baby."

Badinage. Bonhomie. 

Bop brow bone.

"Beautiful!" Burrowing. "Binary." Buss. "Boolean."

"Boggled by Bony Buccaneer." Brush breastbone.

"Bodyguard." Blurt. "Bodhisattva."

"Blasphemer."

Breathe.

Bond.

Boundless.

Begin blooming bruises beside bites. Behinds bestially bedevilling backs. Buttocks bumping. Bonne blitzing bouches. Bonita. Bonny. Birthing beauty. Borealis basso.

Blue-moon beaming bizarrely.

Blanket bedraggled.

Blab, "Booze?"

"Bah!"

Bag. Bordeaux. Bonne Bouche. Brillat-Savarin. Brie. Bread. Bacon. Biscuits.

Bonfire blazing.

Bind bridges. Build boons. Blend. Boffin. Biographer.

Basic Biology.

Besotted.

Beloved.

Bliss.

Blessed.

 

 

 

Bye.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's it. This set of stories is done. 
> 
> There I was listening to the Three Patch podcast that talked about Coffee Shop AU and 221bs (http://three-patch.com/2016/07/01/episode-51/) as a form came up. And I went, huh, 221b stories you say. I wonder if I could write 221 of them and have the final story be entirely in words starting in B.
> 
> And here we are. So, thank you for the idea.
> 
> Also thanks to Fandom for having such a thing as fanlore with a list of fantropes. Without which I would have struggled cover as many as I did.  
> http://fanlore.org/wiki/List_of_Tropes_in_Fanworks
> 
> Anyway, I'd like to also thank the English language for having all these filthy gorgeous words. 
> 
> Oh, ye massive Indo European language that resulted from an Indo European trip North West with a hook up with the Corded Ware people that produced little baby proto German, which then traded words with the Romans, sent off a few children to go conquer Celts (and yes - Cest their way into producing a new language) that almost split into multiple sub-languages, but pulled it together after that really nasty relationship with the Norwegians/Danes battered off most of the endings and complicated gendered tenses, who was then forced to marry Norman-French (itself the decedent of a Viking hook up with the bastard child of German that conquered Romanized Celts), and had a grandkid that for some reason (kids those days) decided to do a massive pronunciation shift and become the poly lingual verb and noun thief I enjoy speaking today. English, practically a trope of its own.
> 
> Thanks.
> 
> Because while I have a decent vocabulary, I did have to look through a dictionary once I got past the 47 words that I knew I wanted to use. Yes, "Bucolic blades breezes brushing. Bees buzzing bouquets" was the first line written.  
> This dictionary doesn't have all the English words, and there are some oddly specific choices, but... pretty useful.  
> http://www.dictionary.com/list/b/3
> 
> Hopefully enjoyable and comprehensible for all it's contortions (bent below benches beyond brides by bays).
> 
> And most of all, Thank You for reading!

**Author's Note:**

> If you like my writing, check out my profile for links to other works.


End file.
